


In Due Time

by lizardwriter



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, time capsule au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardwriter/pseuds/lizardwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Hollis and her friends are on the brink of heading off in their separate directions, but Laura convinces them to bury a time capsule to be opened in ten years. It's something fun to remember each other by and it's her way of assuring that they'll all meet again. Plus maybe she's got some secrets to bury that she won't mind revisiting in ten years (but just because you bury things doesn't mean they leave you alone).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parting Ways

**Author's Note:**

> A few basic things explained about the fic: 1) they're American and in the US for this. 2) They're all in the same grade in school in this. (Except Mattie, who is older.) 
> 
> A massive thank you to [bigmammallama5](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BigMammaLlama5) for letting me pick her brain about art school for this. (Have you seen her art? [Go look at her art.](http://bigmammallama5.tumblr.com/tagged/arting) I'll wait.) And another massive thanks to [BADAAX](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BADAAX) (whose fic, "Silence Looks Good on You", you should definitely check out) for betaing for me! And a special thanks to [bobina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bobina) for helping me come up with a summary.

You’re the first one there. You’re not surprised. It’s been your pet project, and you maybe, sorta, kinda, bullied the rest of your friends into going along with it. It’ll be cool, though, you know it.

It’s sweltering out, despite the sun settling low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the ground from the nearby playground. You’d grown up on that playground: hanging upside down on the monkey bars, racing Danny to the top of the slide, making a face the first time Kirsch tried to kiss you in the little castle, not making a face the first time Mel DID kiss you sitting on the little platform by the ladder…You’ve got a lot of memories here. It’s why you chose this place.

You wipe your hair away from your face and make a face at the amount of sweat that you’ve managed to wipe off your brow in the process. “Ick,” you say as you wipe your hand on your shorts.

“Hello to you, too.”

You whip around with a grin to find Danny strolling up behind you, something in a plastic bag tucked under her arm. You’re tempted to give her a big hug, but, given your level of grossness at this moment, you refrain.

“Hi!”

“Hey,” Danny replies, then her eyes shift behind you and light up, and you don’t have to turn around to know who’s just arrived. “Hi,” she says, attempting to sound indifferent.

“Hey, Kirsch,” you say turning back around.

“Hey, little hottie. Hey, D-bear.”

“Kirsch!” you and Danny complain in unison, but he just grins at you both in that excited little way that always reminds you vaguely of a golden retriever.

LaFontaine and Perry show up together a few minutes later, and, since Mel moved away two years ago, that means you’re just waiting on Will.

You spot him a few minutes later, trudging up with an apology on his lips and then behind him is…

You hadn’t really thought she’d come. You’d extended the invitation to her more out of courtesy than anything else (not at all because you really secretly HOPED she’d come and partake for once).

She’s eleven months older than Will, but he’d been precocious and she’d had some trouble with attendance in middle school, so you’d all ended up in the same grade for high school. She’d always been kind of on the periphery of your group, never really a proper part of it. You go back further than the others with her family, but the truth is it’s a connection you both pretend doesn’t exist.

She’s overdressed, you think, wondering how on earth she’s actually wearing black right now in this heat. Her jeans are tight and she can’t be comfortable, but her face shows nothing besides boredom.

(You ignore the thought in the back of your mind telling you that she’s fucking gorgeous with the orange glow of the setting sun hitting her face.)

“Oh, hey, Carmilla. Glad you could come,” you greet her, offering a small smile.

She raises an eyebrow at you, then shrugs. “Yeah, well, Will made me do that stupid video message thing, so I figured I’d better come along and make sure it actually made it into the ground.”

_Charming as always._

“You do know we’re digging it up in ten years, right?” Danny asks. The two of them have never properly gotten along. They kind of tolerate each other at best. You’re not actually sure why, but you’ve never really pressed.

“If you lot remember,” Carmilla throws back, and it seems like a challenge.

“Oh, we’ll remember,” you assure her, except now, suddenly you’re hoping that she forgets. It’s just…well, you hadn’t REALLY thought she’d be a part of it, and you’d figured, hey all the feelings will be gone in ten years anyway, so what’s the harm, right? At worst you’ll get some teasing from your friends. That’s what you’d told yourself last night when you’d finally recorded your part of the video message now sitting on the memory stick in your pocket. Now that Carmilla’s here…Well, at least you’re not going to be watching it today.

Carmilla gives you a look, then, and you can’t quite decipher it, but then she’s shrugging and saying, “Well, let’s get this over with, then.”

You squat down and open the medium-sized, army-green box that you’d bought specifically for this purpose, then look up at your friends (and Carmilla). “Who wants to go first?”

You look around expectantly and see everyone else is doing the same (except Carmilla, whose eyes are tracing shadows in the grass).

“I’ll go,” Kirsch says, stepping forward, “but like, it’s secret, right? So everyone has to turn their backs or something.”

“Just leave it in the bag, doofus, or else we’ll see when we put our own thing in anyway,” Danny replies.

Kirsch is unfazed by the insult, his wide grin not even faltering. “Yeah, but it’s still a moment, right?”

“Come on,” you say, tugging at Danny’s elbow. “He’s right. We each get a moment with the box and nobody is allowed to rummage through or peek. We should all be surprised in ten years, or what’s the fun?”

You move towards the playground and everyone follows you, even Carmilla, you realize, when you glance to your right and see that she’s fallen into step beside you.

You turn your gaze quickly forward again and tell yourself it’s not so she doesn’t change her mind when she catches you gawking.

You go to the swings and snag one before anyone else has the chance, and Danny’s rolling her eyes at you while LaFontaine sits down in the swing next to you and Perry mutters, “children!” in an affectionate sort of way. Will snags the third and final swing and you, he, and LaFontaine start an unofficial contest to see who can swing the highest.

“Don’t fall off and crack your pretty little head open,” Carmilla mutters, and when you glance her way you realize she’s leaning against the frame of the swing-set just beside you with a smirk on her face. It’s more amused than sneering, so you shoot her a grin.

She rolls her eyes like it’s an Olympic sport and she’s vying for the gold, but then she snorts when you lean way, way back and stay there through the upswing until you jerk back.

“Dare you to jump off,” Carmilla challenges.

“No way,” you reply. “You just want to steal my swing.”

“Are you five?”

“Says the girl issuing dares,” you shoot back quickly.

Before the conversation can continue, Kirsch has wandered over and Perry’s heading off to make her contribution to the time capsule.

When you glance back towards Carmilla, she’s moved away, her dark hair almost orange in the light of the setting sun. Your breath catches in your throat and you swallow back something that almost tastes like disappointment that she’s not interested in continuing a conversation with you.

One by one your friends head over to the time capsule box until just you and Carmilla are left to go. It doesn’t look like Carmilla’s actually got anything on her to contribute, so you’re about to actually hop off of the swing, but Carmilla sighs heavily upon Danny’s return and steps away.

“Well, I wouldn’t want Queen Hollis to have to give up her throne prematurely, so I guess I’ll go next.”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she just smirks and walks towards the time capsule box, leaving you swinging.

“Why’d she even come? She doesn’t seem thrilled about being here,” Danny mutters.

“I invited her,” you reply.

“Yeah, but I still don’t get why,” Danny says.

“She’s…part of the group,” you attempt to defend your decision, but the truth is it falls a little flat and Danny’s expression tells you as much. “She’s got no other group. It’ll be good for her to be included,” you try again. “Besides…” you don’t really want to bring it up. You don’t want to go there today. This is a happy time. This is about the future.

Realization dawns on Danny’s face, though, as LaFontaine shifts their feet uncomfortably. “Fine,” Danny relents, “but what’s she even putting in?”

“She wouldn’t tell me,” Will volunteers.

“The point is that we’re not supposed to know until ten years from now,” you reply. You glance towards the box anyway, and see Carmilla sauntering back your way.

“You’re up, cupcake,” Carmilla calls to you.

You ignore the way the word “cupcake” lingers in your brain.

“That didn’t take long,” you reply as she reaches the swing set and leans nonchalantly against the frame.

“To drop something in a box? Why would it?” Carmilla shoots back.

Okay, she maybe has a point, but everyone else has taken a little more than a second. Part of your whole idea in doing this was kind of a way for all of you to say goodbye to your childhood and your lives before college while keeping a way to hold on to each other. It should be emotional, right? But she’s Carmilla, and you’re honestly not sure you’ve ever seen her be emotional about anything.

Well, not since…

No. You’re NOT going there today. And anyway, you’d both been devastated by that. The whole town had been devastated, though not like your two families. It had been different for her afterwards than it had been for you, you knew. And even then, she’d just closed off, so quickly. You know it must affect her, still, the same way it does you, but she never shows it. Or maybe just the way she is is her way of showing it. You shake the thoughts from your head. You’ve had them many times before and they’ve gotten you no closer to anything with regards to Carmilla.

Instead, you eye the ground, feel the swing moving beneath you, and breathe in deeply as the wind hits your face. “Hey, Carmilla?”

“Mm?” she hums, looking up at you.

“Dare accepted,” you say before leaping off the swing, feeling, for oh-so-brief a moment like you’re flying before your feet thud firmly into the ground and your knees bend sharply to absorb the impact. You turn to Carmilla with a triumphant grin and you catch a fleeting smirk and a flash of amusement in her eyes before she’s back to staring at you with a bored expression as if willing you to hurry up and finish with the time capsule business already.

You make your way over to the box, glancing over your shoulder to check that nobody’s followed you or watching you too closely. They’re not, and you find your curiosity piqued as you turn your gaze to the items already lying in the box. They vary in shapes and sizes, but none are easy to make out wrapped in various containers to conceal them. You can’t help but wonder which item Carmilla put in.

Resisting the temptation to just take a quick peek, you pull the memory stick out of your pocket and place it carefully in the box, then you reach in your other pocket and look at the delicate item in your hand. You don’t want to think about when you got it. You don’t want to think about who gave it to you. (You really don’t want to think of how much you’ve treasured it ever since and how a part of you can’t bear to put it in the box.) Before you can change your mind, you place it in, tucking it under part of a plastic bag.

You close the box firmly and click the lock into place. No one is going to open it for ten years. None of that will see the light of day for ten whole years. You wonder what you’ll all be like by then. Will you still be in touch? Will everyone remember? You can’t imagine not being friends with any of them right now (except perhaps Carmilla, but even her it’s hard to imagine as not a part of your life). It’s weird to think that you’re all about to go off to different colleges and meet new people and explore new things and that might take you away from each other. People drift apart all the time, right?

You look over at your friends and smile at them all conversing happily by the swings. Danny leaves first thing tomorrow, you know, so this is the last time you’ll all be in one place until at least Christmas, probably. Maybe Thanksgiving, if you’re lucky. You feel something tighten in your chest as you watch LaFontaine throw their head back and laugh at something that Perry’s saying, and Danny give Kirsch a little shove as Will cracks up beside them. The light is behind them, framing them so that they glow, and you feel so much love for each and every one of them in that moment.

And then your eyes find Carmilla, and she’s staring back at you, her face in shadow, so you can’t read her expression, but it’s like you can feel her gaze burning into you. You swallow hard and ignore the suddenly erratic beating of your heart. You don’t think that this may very well be the last time you ever get to see her. You _can’t_ think that.

Carmilla turns away and mutters something to the others that you can’t quite here, and then everyone is looking at you and heading your way. You take a deep breath and pull yourself together. You shoot them all a grin and Perry gives your elbow a little squeeze as she settles in next to you.

“Did any of you geniuses think to dig the hole?” Carmilla asks.

You turn pleading eyes to Kirsch. “I was kinda hoping…”

“Oh! Oh. Yeah. No problem, little hottie! I’ve got that travel shovel in my pick up from camping last week. Be right back.”

You open your mouth to protest his nickname for you once again, but he’s already jogging away towards his truck, and when he gets back he looks so pleased with himself that you don’t have the heart to bring it up.

He digs the hole quicker than you’d have imagined, though his shirt is soaked through with sweat before he’s done and there are dirt smudges across his face from him wiping his brow while digging.

“Okie dokie,” he says, standing aside proudly.

You lift the box and it feels surprisingly heavy, which must show on your face because both Danny and Carmilla step forward to put a hand on it with you. Carmilla slinks back when Danny makes it clear that she’s got it and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at whatever the hell their problem is with each other. It won’t matter after tomorrow anyway.

You and Danny lower the box into the hole, and then you take the shovel from Kirsch and you shovel a scoop of dirt onto it. You pass the shovel off to Danny, who looks at you questioningly for a second, then picks up on what you’re asking her to do. The shovel gets passed around and everyone scoops some dirt over the box until it gets back to you, and you fill in the rest of the hole, patting it down firmly.

LaFontaine jumps onto the freshly overturned dirt and stomps it down for good measure with a gleeful little grin.

“Well, there goes high school. College is coming. Ten years from now better not be the next time I see you all!” you declare, and you really can’t help the welling up of emotion that makes your voice crack as you say those words.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Danny and Perry and LaFontaine all tackle you in a hug, and then Kirsch is wrapping his arms around all of you, and Will is joining him. The only one who isn’t involved in the massive circle of hugs and emotion is Carmilla, and you catch her eye through a gap in the bodies around you. She’s smirking. Of course she is. You resolve to pull her into a hug, too, whenever you escape from your current hugs, but by the time you convince Kirsch that you’re being squished and everyone has detangled from one another, Carmilla Karnstein, girl you’ve known all your life but have never been able to figure out, has walked away from the group and effectively out of your life.

You frown into the space that she’d occupied moments before, but you’re laughing a minute later when Kirsch picks you up for another hug and swings you around. In the midst of soppy goodbyes and promises to keep in touch and make plans over breaks, you forget about the person who is missing.

\--

College isn’t anything like what you expected it to be. Yes, it comes with the freedom of being out from under your dad’s overprotective and ever-watchful gaze, but it also means that there’s nobody to kick your butt into gear when you’re marathoning “Orange is the New Black” on your laptop instead of working on the latest paper for your lit class. Your first C comes as a shock to the system and you resolve to do better. You make friends with your lit TA and get extra tutoring (and, okay, it’s not your fault that she’s cute and you might do a little bit of flirting, too). That results in an A- on your next paper and you feel a small sense of accomplishment until you go back to your dorm and survey the cookie container carnage that makes up your trash can, and you realize you might still not have your act together as a grown up exactly.

Your roommate, Betty, is fun enough, but studious, and you feel kind of bad at the way she keeps leaving your room to go study in the library, like maybe you’re making too much noise for her to be able to concentrate. It probably doesn’t help that you’ve decided to do a vlog for your public speaking class and you have a tendency to mutter aloud to yourself as you’re working through a difficult paper in general. At least Betty follows the chore wheel you’d set up after the first week when neither of you had been overly enthusiastic to tidy and the room had turned into a disaster area pretty quickly. She invites you to the occasional party, too, and that’s how you make friends with SJ, Elsie, and Natalie.

Friends, you realize, are what help keep you sane in the real world (or college, at least). Natalie makes sure you eat more than just cookies during midterms. Elsie makes sure you stay social rather than being sucked into a vortex of schoolwork and Netflix. SJ takes your calls at 2 a.m. when you’re freaking out because your computer died and you hadn’t saved your lit paper in, like, four pages.

You Skype Danny every week and she tells you about basketball practice and the cute girl she met in her Anthro 101 class and how she sees Kirsch when they’re there for games or when Kirsch comes to her school for games. You listen to her whine about how he’s “such a fratboy” now, and resist rolling your eyes until after you’ve cut off the call because she’s pledging some sort of a sorority.

You text LaFontaine on a fairly regular basis and they fill you in on all the fun they and Perry are having at school together. You can’t help being a little jealous that they still have each other to depend on in this new journey you’ve all embarked on.

You kind of wish you had someone from your old life in this new one the way Danny still kind of has Kirsch and LaFontaine and Perry have each other. Even Will (who you keep up with on occasion, but mostly via twitter) has Carmilla by default of being her brother, though you can’t imagine Carmilla being horribly good at communicating long-distance. Then again, maybe she’s not far from him. You never did find out where she was going to college, so you can’t be sure.

Still, your new friends are fast becoming a new kind of family to you, and maybe that’s just as good.

\--

Just before Thanksgiving you’re rushing across campus to hand in an assignment, cutting it far too close (though it would have been so much easier if the professor would just accept digital copies), when you stop dead in your tracks, the assignment in your hand flapping in the strong breeze, but momentarily forgotten.

Is that…? It can’t be.

But as she draws nearer, you see that, actually, yes, it can be. It is.

“Carmilla,” the name escapes your lips in a rush of air.

Her hair is flicking across her face in the wind and she’s holding a large portfolio tightly under her arm as she makes her way across the quad, feet sure, pace quick.

(God, you’d somehow forgotten just how gorgeous she is, but seeing her in person again takes your breath away.)

You want to wave or call out or something, anything, so that she sees you, but the paper in your hand is about to be late and it’s not like she’d even necessarily be happy to see you, so instead you watch her pass you by, then hurry on to your professor’s office.

Well, apparently you go to college with Carmilla Karnstein. You did NOT see that coming.

\--

You write a DM to Will a half dozen times that night, but you can’t bring yourself to send any of them.

 _Hey, does your sister go to my school? Because I thought I saw her walking across campus today, haha._ Too joke-y. Besides, you KNOW it was her.

 _Hey, can I have your sister’s number?_ Too direct. And weird. And possibly not even something you want.

 _Hey, does Carmilla know she goes to the same school as me?_ Too “why would you be asking that”. Plus, Will might not even know.

 _Hey, do you think your sister would actually not hate seeing me?_ Way, waaaaay too needy.

Variations of those slip past your fingers only to meet the delete button going the other way.

In the end you send him a normal tweet asking if he’ll be home for Thanksgiving.

His reply comes late. He’s not.

\--

It’s so nice to be home, even if your dad almost suffocates you in a bear hug the moment you step through the door and barely lets you leave the house until after Thanksgiving. He’s made his famous beer-can turkey and you scarf it down in a way that makes him ask in alarm how you’ve been eating at school. You assure him you haven’t been starving to death, though you neglect to inform him that your meals have been known to consist entirely of cookies and chocolate. The stuffing and whipped sweet potatoes and green beans you devour taste so much better than any meal you’ve had since you’ve left home, though, and you let him know you’ve missed his cooking.

He may not want you to go out to see your friends, but he makes no objection when Danny and LaFontaine show up and park themselves on your couch when their Thanksgiving dinners end and hijack his TV. You know he’d rather be watching the game, but he just smiles fondly at all of you and then goes into the kitchen and tunes into the game on the radio.

It’s good to have your friends back, even if Perry and Kirsch are still stuck doing family things and Will’s still off at school. And Carmilla…well, Carmilla wouldn’t be here anyway.

(That doesn’t mean that at least part of you doesn’t wish that she was.)

It’s comforting being able to lean into Danny while LaFontaine attempts to toss popcorn into your mouth and you laugh about old times and talk about new ones. There’s no awkwardness because you already know each other. There are no miscommunications because you long ago learned each other’s likes and dislikes and how to read each other.

You text SJ, Natalie, and Elsie a quick Happy Thanksgiving, though, while LaFontaine and Danny are arguing over what movie to watch next. Elsie texts back with a picture of her empty plate and the words, “Ugh, help! Ate tooo much!” Natalie texts back a string of emoticons that it takes you a moment to decipher as her own version of Happy Thanksgiving. SJ sends you a picture of a turkey plush toy with the caption “Gobble, gobble! Halp! Don’t eeeeat meeeeee!” You laugh and think how each text was so _them_ , and you realize maybe there’s plenty of room for the new friends and the old friends in your heart and your life.

\--

You’ve been back on campus a week before you spot Carmilla again. This time there are no papers that are about to be late and you’re not in a rush to go anywhere. Carmilla, on the other hand, seems stressed. You’re trying to decide if you should attempt to wave or bother going over to her, when she looks up and you can tell she spots you. She freezes in place and you can see what looks like smudges of charcoal on her forehead and her temple.

Surprise turns to a smirk on her face, and she narrows her eyes in an inviting kind of way. The apparent stress you’d seen in her body and her step, gone as she moves towards you.

“Either you’re putting a lot of effort into stalking me, or you go here, too.”

“The latter,” you reply, wondering why you had expected something as basic as a “hello” from Carmilla Karnstein.

“Small world,” Carmilla says, her eyes studying you as her face slips into an expression that you can’t read.

“That’s what they say.” Why are you being so awkward? You’ve known Carmilla practically all your life. Except, somehow it feels different, talking to her here, away from home, in this place where you have your new life. It’s like a meeting of your two worlds, and you’re not entirely sure how you should feel about it. You think maybe Carmilla’s experiencing the same thing because you’re quite sure that she’s never looked at you quite like this before.

You feel a blush start to creep up your cheeks when her gaze doesn’t shift, and you shuffle your feet and pull your jacket a little tighter around you.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

“That we went to the same school. You don’t seem nearly as surprised as I am.”

You bite your lip for a moment, unsure why exactly you’re hesitating to tell her the truth, but then you nod. “I saw you right before Thanksgiving. I thought I was hallucinating for a second.”

“Been hitting the booze pretty hard since you left the shelter of overprotective Papa Bear?”

“No!” You roll your eyes. You know it’s just teasing, but you feel the need to respond anyway. (It’s a new type of teasing that you’re not used to from her. You instantly want to find out why it’s happening.) “I just didn’t expect to see anyone here I knew. I mean from home.”

Carmilla nods. “So why didn’t you say hi?”

“I was late for something and you were headed somewhere and I…” You let the words trail off. You’re not sure you want to admit that you weren’t sure Carmilla would actually be glad to see you.

“Lateness. Yes. Speaking of that, I’m going to be late for art history if I don’t leave you, but…” Carmilla pauses and bites on her lower lip in a way that you do your best not to find incredibly attractive, but fail miserably. She looks you up and down, and offers a half-smile. “I’ll see you around, cupcake.”

“Yeah. I’ll…It was good to run into you!” you call after her as she rushes off.

Art history? That plus the charcoal on her face and the portfolio you’d seen her carrying last time. Is Carmilla studying art? It suddenly bothers you immensely that you don’t know if she can draw and you have no idea what she wants to do in life.

You resolve to find out.


	2. First Semester's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla takes a much needed nap and Laura gets teased.

You should have asked for her number, you realize once another week has flown by, (and, okay, the end of term is just around the corner and she’s probably going home for Christmas, just like you, so you can probably just ask her then, but you’d kind of like to see her sooner). It’s not like you have a ton of time to hang out, what with finals and papers and your big public speaking project all being due, but, as Elsie reminds you as she drags you out of your room at 11 o’clock on a Saturday night, there is more to college than academics.

Your hangover the next morning, when you get up with your 7 a.m. alarm that you responsibly set the night before so that you could get up and finish your English lit paper, makes you think that, while Elsie might be right that there’s more to college than academics, there is also a time and a place for that other stuff. Perhaps you need to be a little more responsible in your decision making.

(You manage a B on the paper in the end, though, and you decide you’re pretty proud of it.)

\--

You don’t see Carmilla again until you’re heading back from your last exam. She’s stumbling out of the art building and she looks dead on her feet (or possibly undead on her feet with the ridiculously dark circles under her eyes and her pale complexion). Smudges of black and grey mark her face and hands. She’s visibly sagging under the weight of her portfolio and you move closer without thinking, concern for her gripping at you with icy hands.

“Carmilla?” you say, and she stares at you for a long moment before a smirk cracks across her lips.

“Hey there, cupcake. Told you I’d see you around.”

“Have you been drinking?” you ask, barely resisting the urge to reach out and put an arm around her to help hold her up. You don’t smell any alcohol on her breath (in fact, she smells like strong-brewed coffee), but she’s swaying slightly on her feet and she looks on the verge of collapse.  

She shakes her head. “Just tired. Really fucking tired.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“What’s sleep?”

“Carmilla!”

“I’ve been busy. Finals have been kinda hellish.”

She sways again and you reach out without thinking. You wrap your arm firmly around her, and look at her. “You need to lie down. Which dorm are you in?”

Carmilla points in a general direction that is less than helpful because the two dorms that are furthest away are in that direction.

You make a split-second decision that you’re not sure Carmilla will thank you for, but there’s a heat radiating off of her that does NOT feel right that you can feel THROUGH her jacket.

“Wrong way,” she mumbles as you start to guide her along the path.

“We’re going to my room. It’s closer.”

Carmilla shakes her head and tries to pull away, but it’s as if every ounce of energy she might have had is draining out of her faster than she’d anticipated because all she ends up doing is slumping against you more. “I’ll be fine. I just need a 24-hour nap. Can’t do that in your room, cutie.”

You tell yourself that your heart doesn’t skip a beat at the pet name. She’s not actually calling you cute. She’s exhausted. Hell, she’s probably borderline delirious based on the slightly dazed look in her eyes.

“I’ve got a bed. Pretty sure that’s all you need for your nap, Carm,” you reply, the nickname slipping from your lips without you realizing until Carmilla gives you a strange look.

“Carm?”

“Carmilla,” you correct quickly. “Anyway, by the looks of you, any horizontal surface would do. Come on.”

Carmilla lets you lead her back to your room. Someone gets the door to the building for you as they head out, but Carmilla has to lean against the wall for support as you search for your keycard and open the door to your dorm room. Betty’s not there, and Carmilla follows you inside on heavy feet and looks awkwardly from one bed to the other.

“The one on the right,” you inform her.

Carmilla sets down her portfolio on your side of the room, but then hesitates.

“Before you drop dead of exhaustion is probably a good idea,” you suggest when her gaze shifts from the bed to you.

She still doesn’t seem convinced, but it’s as if you can see the last remaining remnants of energy slipping out of her, and she virtually collapses onto your bed.

You help her kick off her shoes and pull off her jacket, then she lies down, curling onto her side and burying her face in your yellow pillow. You pull your blanket up over her, and you feel the extreme heat radiating off of her. You lay a cool hand on her forehead and snatch it quickly away.

“Carmilla, you’re burning up.”

Carmilla waves a vague hand at you, but her eyes are already closed and she doesn’t appear to have the ability to answer you currently. Maybe she’s right. Maybe all she needs is rest.

You take a seat in your desk chair and look at her, curled up in your bed. Something tightens in your chest and you’re about to turn away, when she stirs and blinks at you a few times.

“You look like her,” Carmilla mutters, her eyes fluttering closed again.

“Who?”

“Your mom,” Carmilla sighs.

Emotions stir inside you, and you swallow them down. You don’t want to deal with them right now. Not when Carmilla is in your bed and you go home to your dad in two days.

It’s less than a minute before the rise and fall of Carmilla’s chest evens out into a slow, steady rhythm and you know that she’s properly asleep. You turn your back and let the sound of her deep breaths calm you as you busy yourself with wasting time online.

You’ve done it. You’ve survived your first semester of college, you remind yourself. Somehow it doesn’t feel the way you thought it would.

\--

Betty’s not exactly quiet when she comes back to the room, but you don’t think too much of it until the noise suddenly stops and Betty asks, “Laura? What’s with the mega hottie in your bed?”

You twirl around to face her, confused, and then you see Carmilla. Right. Of course she’s still there. You’d gotten lost in a tumblr vortex, attempting to catch up on about a week’s worth of posts you missed during finals and completely forgotten that there was anyone else in your room. Carmilla hasn’t moved since you last looked at her, despite the noise that Betty made when she entered.

The words “mega hottie” permeate your brain and you are torn between thinking, “of course everyone else can see how gorgeous she is” and feeling ridiculously embarrassed.

“She’s just a friend,” you mumble. It’s possible that that’s too generous a term for your relationship, but you’re not about to explain the complexities of your history with Carmilla to Betty.

“I’ve never met her before,” Betty replies, giving you a curious look.

“She’s…I’ve known her a long time.”

Betty narrows her eyes and plops down on the edge of her bed. She crosses her legs, leans her elbow on her knee and puts her chin in her hand, looking at you expectantly to elaborate. 

You sigh. “I know her from home. We grew up together.”

“And she’s here in our dorm room now because…?”

“She goes here.”

“So you’ve had a friend from home here at school all semester and I’ve never met her? You’ve known SJ a few months and I thought she was moving in before Thanksgiving.”

You really don’t want to get in to how you’re fairly certain Carmilla mostly tolerates you rather than actively likes you, so you simply shrug in reply.

“Why is she sleeping in your bed?”

“Hers was too far away.”

“So when you say friend, you mean girlfriend who you couldn’t wait to have sex with? Because you both look fairly clothed…”

Your eyes go wide and you can feel the blush spreading quickly across your cheeks. You shake your head vehemently. “No! No. I definitely do NOT mean that. She was dead on her feet after her finals and she needed to crash. I figured the sooner she could get prone the better off she’d be. Plus, I think she’s running a fever.”

Betty frowns at you for a moment, and it’s clear she’s not a hundred percent convinced, but then she shrugs. “Well, you’ll be happy to hear that my flight home is later today, so if she doesn’t wake up, feel free to take my bed.”

Your gaze shifts back to Carmilla, who looks more peaceful than you can ever remember seeing her. She looks innocent and small, and you’re struck by a sudden urge to protect her, but you know that as soon as she wakes up the innocence will fade away and be replaced with a smirk and dark eyes that hide past pain with a sharp look.

“Thanks,” you murmur to Betty, tearing your eyes away from Carmilla.

Betty looks from you to Carmilla and back. “You sure there’s nothing else going on here?”

“Positive,” you assure her.

“Okay, well, I’ve got to pack a little, but then…I’ll see you after break?” Betty frowns, holding her arms open to you.

You give her a smile and stand and hug her tightly. It’s strange, having to share your space with someone like this, but you’ve definitely grown used to it, and now, you think, it’s going to be weird to have your room at home to yourself for almost a whole month. “I’m gonna miss you,” you tell her, a little surprised at your own honesty.

“I’m gonna miss you, too. Kinda weird, really,” Betty murmurs in reply. You pull apart and smile at each other.

“Need help?” you offer, feeling suddenly quite generous. Maybe it’s just the spirit of the Christmas season, you muse.

Betty grins at you. “Maybe to get stuff to my car?”

“You got it.”

\--

Carmilla sleeps like the dead to the point where you actually move closer to her at one point to better make out the steady rise and fall of her chest. You just want to make sure that she hasn’t actually died in your bed.

SJ knocks on your door around dinner time and informs you that Natalie had charged her with ensuring that your post-exam victory meal consisted of more than cookies and chocolate before she left for home. You eye the open package of cookies on your desk sheepishly, giving SJ the opportunity to lean in to your room and see Carmilla.

“Hey, Laura?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s a hot girl in your bed.”

You kind of wish that all your friends a) would stop referring to Carmilla as a “hot girl” (even though she is), and b) would stop sounding so surprised at the presence of someone in your bed (you DID manage a few dates this semester, thank you very much). You roll your eyes.

“That’s Carmilla.”

The look SJ gives you makes it clear that that answer isn’t going to cut it.

You briefly consider your options and decide that take tow of this conversation would be much more pleasant over food. “Buy me Mona’s and I’ll tell you?” you suggest.

“Deal. Should we bring _Carmilla_?” SJ asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she says her name.

You glance at Carmilla’s prone form. She’s still very much dead to the world and her words about needing to nap for 24 hours straight no longer sound like such an exaggeration.

“I’ll bring her back some food. Let her sleep.”

SJ shrugs and you grab your jacket and follow her out of your room.

The walk doesn’t take you long and, much to your relief, SJ temporarily abandons the topic of Carmilla in favor of musing about how she thinks she’s done on finals. Your breath is visible in the frigid air and you wish you’d thought to grab a scarf as well. The warmth that hits you with the aroma of spiced meats as you enter the restaurant is incredibly welcoming.

You wave at the hostess who recognizes you and gestures to a table in the corner that you’ve come to think of as yours over the course of the semester.

You’ve ordered your usual hummus and fries and a falafel sandwich and SJ’s ordered her usual chicken shawarma, when she leans back in her chair and fixes you with a grin that you know means that your brief respite is over.

“So…Carmilla…” SJ prompts.

“It’s nothing like what you’re thinking,” you assure her quickly.

“Oh? What am I thinking? I’m not thinking anything.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re thinking I’m hooking up with her and never told you.”

“Are you?”

“No!” You realize that, though honest, your answer may have been a touch too emphatic because SJ gets a smug grin and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Just a one-time thing, then?” SJ suggests.

“No. A never thing. She’s a…” You hesitate to use the word “friend”, so you change tack. “She’s someone I know from home who happens to go here. That’s all.”

SJ nods. “Mhm, okay, I buy that.”

“Thank you.” You start to relax, but you should have known better because a moment later, SJ says, “But that doesn’t explain her presence in your bed, Laur."

“She’s sleeping.”

SJ shoots you a look that says that that definitely needs further elaboration.

“She’s an art major, or something, and she was exhausted after her finals, I guess, and her room is apparently across campus, so I let her crash in mine.”

SJ looks amused.

“What?”

“’Or something’, ‘I guess’, ‘apparently’? You two are close, huh?”

You feel a blush start creeping up your cheeks at the reminder of just how little you know about a girl you’ve known almost all your life.

“Well, it’s not like we’ve been hanging out a lot since we came to college.”

“Obviously. I’ve never met her. Wait…the others haven’t met her, have they? I’m not, like, the only one out of the loop, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course not. Look, I didn’t even know she went here until right before Thanksgiving. I’ve seen her twice since then, one of those times being earlier today when she was literally on the verge of collapse.”

“So you, being the fine, upstanding citizen that you are, just gave her your bed.”

“Right,” You reply, ignoring the sarcasm in SJ’s voice.

Your conversation gets momentarily interrupted as your fries and hummus arrive, and you both dig in. SJ had watched you in disgust the first time you’d dipped your fries in your hummus, but you’d won her over once you’d gotten her to taste it.

“So how do you know her?”

“We went to school together.”

“And you were friends?”

For all her goofiness, SJ is incredibly perceptive, you think. “Something like that,” you mumble.

She fixes you with an expression that you’ve come to learn means that she’s not going to let a subject drop and you really may as well answer her already. “Come on, Hollis. Don’t make me drag this whole conversation out of you. What’s the story with you two?”

You sigh heavily, shove another french fry in your mouth, and contemplate where exactly to start.

You know the easiest place, but it’s the part of the story you least want to relay. You haven’t mentioned your mother to your new friends, and you’ve been fairly relieved that they haven’t asked. It’s not that you don’t think about her often, but somehow sharing about her is painful. You like to keep your memories of her private, your own personal treasures. So how to tell the story of you and Carmilla without first explaining the story of your mother?

“We grew up together, sort of. Our dads were best friends, so for a while we hung out as kids. Us and her brother Will, who’s also our year. Her sister, Mattie, too, but she’s older, so she was never too interested in playing with us much.”

“Okay, so how did you get from playing happy suburban families to ‘apparently’ and ‘I guess’?”

 _The day our worlds changed forever,_ you think, but aloud you say, “Life,” with a shrug. “You know what it’s like growing up. One year you’re kinda friends with someone and then middle school happens and crushes and different interests and suddenly you’re kinda not friends with someone anymore.”

SJ nods, but says nothing, so you feel the need to elaborate more.

“I mean you’ve heard me talk about Danny and LaF and the rest of the gang. Carmilla was always kinda there, but not really a part of the group, I guess. Anyway, now we go to the same college, and…That’s that?”

SJ nods again and seems to consider your words as she eats more of the fries and hummus. “Okay,” she finally says. “Just one thing…”

_Uh-oh._

“You said crushes…”

“Does that mean you had a crush on her or she had a crush on you?”

You can feel your face flushing just at the concept that Carmilla Karnstein could have ever had a crush on you. “No. No crushes on each other. Just, no.”

“No?”

“Nope,” you reply, fully aware that your face is growing redder by the second.

“Mhm. Okay. But riddle me this, little Hollis: why is your face now bright red?”

“It’s hot in here?” you suggest.

SJ grins and shakes her head. “Nice try. So the crush was on your side, then.”

“No.”

SJ raises an eyebrow and you sigh.

“It wasn’t really a crush. It…Once upon a time I thought maybe I liked her, but I was still a baby gay and wasn’t even completely sure I liked girls, so it’s ancient history.”

“Ancient history that’s now sleeping in your bed in your, unless I’m mistaken about when Betty said she was leaving, now otherwise empty dorm room?”

“Yep.”

“Nothing that you’d like to do to make it less ancient history, Miss My-Face-Now-Resembles-a-Beet-in-Color?”

 _Oh, God._ “Nothing.”

It’s not a lie. Well, it’s not REALLY a lie. Well, okay, you want to get to know her. You want to think maybe things might be different between you here at school now that you’re both growing up and away from the place that holds so many memories for the both of you. You want to learn about her life now. You want…Okay, well, the truth is, you kind of want to be able to say, “my friend, Carmilla,” without wondering if it’s a lie. Not that that’s new, exactly, but for some reason you’re daring to want it more right now than you ever did back at home growing up.

“Okay,” SJ replies, stealing the last fry out from under your hovering hand and earning herself a glare. “If you say so.”

\--

Saying goodbye to SJ is harder than you’d have thought. You love Natalie and Elsie, but you think perhaps SJ is your best friend from college. She hugs you tightly and promises to text daily, and then she presses a small package into your hands.

“No opening it before Christmas,” SJ tells you.

You feel your curiosity start to burn away, but you promise you won’t open it early.

“Good,” she replies. “I expect some luxurious gift after Christmas, by the way,” she informs you with a wink, and you laugh and hug her again.

“You got it,” you mumble into her coat.

“Why does it feel like I’m not going to see you for ages? Like literally going to see you again in a month.”

You shrug because you feel the same, and then you step back and let her go. “Thanks for making sure I ate properly.”

“Don’t forget to tomorrow just because I’m not here.”

You nod.

“And probably make sure the girl you don’t have a crush on eats, too.”

You glare, but hold up the box containing the leftovers from your meal.

“Yeah, food would be good, too,” SJ says with a wink and a devious grin.

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” SJ contradicts, and leaves you with a kiss on your cheek. “Merry Christmas, Laura! Have fun! I’ll miss you!”

You watch her walk away, then turn to your dorm. You’re not sure if Carmilla will even still be there. What if she woke up and decided to go back to her room? It’s not like that would be unreasonable. So why does your gut twist at the idea that you might go upstairs to find your room empty? You try to convince yourself that you’re just being weird as you climb the stairs, but when you open your door and find Carmilla still very much there and very much asleep in your bed, your stomach does a little flip.

Yeah, no crush at all. Never was one. Sure.


	3. Heading Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Laura and Carmilla head back to their hometown together and Papa Hollis is awesome.

Carmilla is somehow STILL asleep when you wake up the next morning. You’re starting to get a little bit concerned that this isn’t sleep, but that, instead, she’s fallen into a coma. That would put a damper on the holidays.

You decide, maybe, it’s time to wake her.

“Carmilla?” you whisper, hesitating before reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“Carmilla?” you try a little louder. You shake her gently.

No response.

“Carmilla!” You shake her a little harder, and, to your relief, she rolls over. Not comatose, then. That’s something. She doesn’t wake, though, so you decide to give her a little longer.

You start packing up anything you think you might need over the next few weeks at home (and all your laundry because no way are you ever taking for granted free, private laundry machines again). As you take in your overflowing suitcase, it occurs to you that it’s possible that you might be over packing just a touch.

Your eyes drift back to your bed and Carmilla. You know you should probably pack your sheets and your comforter to make sure they get washed, too, but there’s currently someone using them. You check the time and you really should be heading out soon because it’s a few hour’s drive and you’d like to be there by dinner. There’s nothing for it but to try to wake Carmilla again.

You try saying her name, but unsurprisingly you get no response. You try again louder. “Carrrmiiiilllaaaaaa!” Nothing.

Okay, time to try the hands-on approach again and hope it works better than it did last time. She’s had a few more hours of sleep, after all, and really how long can a person sleep for? You put your hand on her shoulder and shake her gently at first, then a little harder. “Caaaaaarrrmiiiiiiiiillllaaaaaaaaaaa!” you say loudly, your face close to her ear as you grip her shoulder tighter and give her another good shake.

She groans and turns her head and her eyes flutter open, and then she’s staring up at you, and you think you might forget how to breathe. You haven’t been this close to Carmilla Karnstein in a very long time, and the last time you were, things were very different. God, she’s stunning.

“Hey, there, cupcake.” Her voice is raspy and it does things to you that you dare not think about while she’s actually in the room with you. “You’re a little close.”

You shake your head and pull back so quickly you hear a small pop in your spine and wince. “Sorry. I just…You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

Carmilla props herself up on her elbows and looks around blearily. “Where are we, exactly?”

“My room.”

Carmilla frowns, and then recollection seems to hit her because her face clears. “Oh, yeah. Okay. So what time is it?”

“Just after four. I really need to head home soon.”

Carmilla pushes herself to sitting. “Just after four of what day?”

“You’ve been sleeping for over 24 hours.”

“Oh, well, shit. I should…I meant to head home today, too. Hey, do you have any food, by any chance?”

You remember the leftovers in the minifridge and get them for her.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, throwing her legs over the side of your bed and eagerly taking the remaining half of your falafel sandwich.

You sit down in your desk chair, your remaining packing forgotten as you watch her devour your leftovers. It’s weird, having her here in your space, now that she’s conscious. It feels like it should be wrong, and you half expect the Carmilla that you’ve known for years to show up and make some vaguely insulting remark and ditch you, but she finishes eating and she offers you a small smile.

“Hey, if I’ve been sleeping on your bed, what’d you do for sleep? Have you been sitting there watching me this whole time? Because that’s a little creepy.”

You think maybe that’s a hint of the Carmilla you know, but she’s throwing you a wink, and you realize that she’s actually just teasing. And not really in the sarcastic way you’ve grown used to, but in a friendly way that feels a little weird, but also nice. “No, I slept in Betty’s bed. And went out with SJ. And packed,” you inform her, waving towards your overflowing suitcase.

“SJ?”

“Sarah Jane. A good friend of mine,” you reply. It suddenly seems really strange that you have friends that Carmilla doesn’t know. She’s known the people in your life for just about all of your life, whether or not she’s really interacted with you much. Here at college, though, she doesn’t know you and your life any better than you know her and hers. It’s a strange thought.

She nods, but there’s the hint of a frown on her lips and you can’t help but wonder if she’s just had the same thought that you did. She holds up the trash from the food and you take it from her and put it in the bag of trash you put by the door so you’d remember to take it out before you left.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my own room and pack and head home, too,” she murmurs, then she stands, or, rather, attempts to. She gets halfway to her feet and then she’s swaying unsteadily and collapsing back onto your bed.

You rush to her side and put a steadying hand on your back, and you think the answering look she shoots you might be surprise, but you’re not entirely sure.

“Is the room swimming for you, too? Or is that a me thing?”

You put a hand to her forehead and realize her fever is back. “I think you’ve come down with something.”

“Yeah, a whole lot of lack of sleep.”

“Lack of sleep? You just slept for a whole day!”

“Yes, but before that I think I got twenty minutes two days ago maybe? I don’t know. I woke up with charcoal on my face and drool on my paper. Not my best look, if Ell’s laughter was anything to go off.”

“Carmilla!” you scold, appalled at the thought. You ignore the small voice at the back of your head that wants to know who Ell is. “Sleep is important!”

“So is not failing out in your first semester.”

“Would that really have happened if you slept?”

“Maybe not, but you’ve gotta show you’re serious in year one or you don’t get very far. If I can’t hack the first semester, I’ll never survive the next three years. Hell, I’ll never even get accepted into the concentration I want. I had projects for my studios plus finals in art history and my stupid gen ed courses. There was no time to sleep.”

You thought your finals week had been rough, but Carmilla’s sounds like hell. “Well, congratulations because now you’re in no shape to drive home.”

“I would argue, but I wasn’t so successful at the standing thing, and there’s that whole room swimming thing, too.”

You consider the idea that pops into your head briefly, but, really, she doesn’t seem to have a plethora of other options, and you wouldn’t mind the company for the ride. “Come on, let’s go pack your things. I’ll drive you home,” you blurt before you can overthink it.

Carmilla raises an eyebrow at you and studies your face, an expression you can’t read on her face. “Okay. Thanks,” she finally murmurs, after what feels like far too long.

You help her to her feet, and look around. “Actually, hang on. I just need to pack a few more things.”

You strip your bed quickly and attempt to peer around the large bundle of bedding in your arms to your suitcase before you remember it is already so full you weren’t able to zip it.

“Got any garbage bags?” Carmilla asks.

“Under the bed,” you mumble, busy trying to use your chin to maintain your hold on the bundle of bedding.

You hear Carmilla moving around, and then there’s the rustle of plastic and you feel extra support under the ball of blankets and sheets in your arms.

“Help me push it in,” Carmilla mutters, and she sounds shaky, so you do so quickly.

You grin up at her when you’re done and wonder briefly when the last time you worked together like this was. (You have an idea, but you don’t want to think about it.)

“Help me get this stuff to my car, then we’ll go to your room?”

“You might have to help me stand as I help you carry, but sure,” Carmilla replies.

You grin at her again. “Deal.”

\--

“So, you’re an art major, right?”

You’ve been driving for two hours and Carmilla has been asleep for an hour and forty-five minutes of that. It’s kind of impressive given that she’s been awake for all of maybe two hours in the past twenty-four.

“What gave me away?” Carmilla asks, and there’s that dry sarcasm that you’re so familiar with just from years of associating with her, but there’s not the same bite to it that you remember in high school, and when you look at her, she’s smirking, but it’s not in an unfriendly way.

“Well, charcoal face and massive portfolio were good hints. Plus you said something about studios?”

“Yep.”

“And you mentioned a concentration? Isn’t art just your concentration?”

Carmilla lets out a laugh and you feel suddenly self-conscious for asking. “No. Art is a massive umbrella and I am basically enrolled in courses to weed out the weakest among us until I hopefully get accepted into the concentration I want and start on that junior year.”

“And what concentration do you want?”

“Drawing. Though, of course, Maman thinks it’s a useless major, but, then again, she’s not so keen on anything art related. She has no qualms telling me again and again how if I’m going to insist on art, I should at least do graphic design so that I can be employable.”

You roll your eyes. Just the thought of Carmilla’s mother gives you the chills. She’s always been an intimidating figure, and, from everything you’ve seen, not much of a mother. You’ve never been sure if it made it better or worse that she wasn’t Carmilla’s birth mom.

You remember the day that Mattie and Carmilla were adopted, even though you were so young at the time. Her dad had thrown a party to welcome them and he’d been so, so proud, but even then her mother had been all forced smiles and awkward pats on the head. You might have only been four, but you’d been able to tell, even then. Carmilla had been just five and Mattie was nine. Will was adopted the next year.

“So what do you want to do with drawing?”

“Ideally? Make a living selling my drawings. Maybe write a graphic novel. Realistically? Teach, maybe.”

“You want to teach? Really?” You’re having trouble imagining that. She’s never struck you especially as a people person and teaching involves rather a lot of interacting with people.

“You don’t have to sound quite so incredulous, cupcake.”

“Sorry,” you mutter. You glance at her and her eyes are glued out the window. She looks a little better with regards to the fever, but she seems like she’s tense. Definitely more tense than when you first headed off from school (although she’d only been conscious for the first five minutes of the trip, and it’s hard to be tense when you’re unconscious). You’re still about an hour from home, and you’re getting the sense that she is not especially looking forward to you reaching your destination. It doesn’t take a massive leap of the imagination to think that her mother is a part of that.

“So, any fun plans for over break?”

“Sleeping,” Carmilla replies. “I plan on catching up on all the sleep I didn’t get all semester.”

“That’s not exactly the type of plans I had in mind.”

“It sounds like fun to me.”

“But what are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mattie’s coming home, so family dinner.”

“What about like tree trimming and making cookies?”

“Maman will have gotten the cook to bake cookies and panpepato and she always hires someone to get a tree and decorate it and the house. She considers it her Christmas good deed, hiring some poor soul, watching them like a hawk to make sure they steal nothing, then paying them decently enough they can have a ‘nice’ Christmas. Always the philanthropist.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever heard anything drip quite so much sarcasm as Carmilla’s last sentence.

You remember a Christmas spent at their house once. It was the Christmas after Will was adopted, you think. Or maybe it was the one after that. Your dad and Carmilla’s had concocted a big joint family plan and Will had tried to scale the Christmas tree while you and Carmilla made a ridiculous amount of paper chains. Mattie had ended up having to use a lint roller on Will to get all of the pine needles off of him. The house had been bright and cheerful and the laughter had echoed around the large rooms. It was nothing like the Christmas that Carmilla was describing that lays ahead of her. It makes you incredibly sad.

“Do you even want to go home?”

“Would you?” Carmilla shoots back.

“No,” you admit. You wonder why she’s going, then. Why is she in the car with you right now? You’re not sure you can ask, though. If you did, you probably wouldn’t get an answer. A day of her sleeping in your room and a few hours in a car does not make you suddenly best friends.

Carmilla slumps against the window beside you and lets out a small, pained groan.

“You doing okay?”

“The stupid chills and the achiness are coming back.”

“So your fever’s going back up?”

“Just in time to go home into Maman’s cold embrace.”

You swallow down the emotions that rise up in you at Carmilla’s biting remark. As much as you’ve garnered from knowing her and Will over the years, you still know so little about their home life, and the hints they’ve dropped make you not want to know more.

You drive on in silence for a while, images of a cold, gray Christmas, lacking in the light and love that punctuates your holiday season, flit across your mind. A few snowflakes fall onto your windscreen only to melt within seconds. Within a few minutes the world around you is streaking white, but it’s not too heavy and the road is far too warm for it to stick.

When Carmilla begins to shake beside you, small whimpers escaping her lips, you reach a decision about something that you hadn’t fully been aware that you’d been considering. Home is close now, but home isn’t what Carmilla needs right now. Not _her_ home at least.

It takes Carmilla a while to catch on, which you’re sure is only because her fever addled mind is slowing her down. You should have thought to keep ibuprofen out or easily accessible so at least she could have kept the fever down. “Sweetheart, not that I’m questioning your sense of direction here, but this is not my street. This is your street.”

“I know.” You can see your house now and the warm tingle of excitement and knowing you’re going home for Christmas seems to explode inside you at the sight.

“Mine is two streets over.”

“I know.”

“We’re in your car,” she points out as you pull into your driveway, smiling at the sight of your dad’s old station wagon tucked safely in the garage. “Am I supposed to walk home with my stuff with a fever?”

You sigh. She’s going to protest, even though you’re doing this for her. You know her well enough to know that. “You’re not in any shape to go home. You can stay with us, for tonight at least. Hopefully your fever will be gone in the morning and then, if you want to go home to your mother, you can.”

Carmilla narrows her eyes at you, and you brace yourself for her response.

“Haha, very funny, cupcake. You don’t want me infringing on your holiday spirit. You’re always a bundle of barely contained excitement this time of year, and I’m…me.”

You narrow your eyes right back, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that wonders how she knows that because it’s not like you’ve interacted much around Christmas in recent years. “I’m serious. You’re sick and your mother…” You pause and take a deep breath. You know you don’t have to finish that particular sentence for Carmilla to understand what you’re saying. “You can either come in the house with me and get some ibuprofen, or you can stay in the car and try not to freeze. Or, you can always walk home. It’s not that far. Up to you.”

With that you get out of the car, grab your backpack from the backseat and the small bag with the gift from SJ and few other things you couldn’t fit in your backpack, and decide that the rest of your stuff can wait until tomorrow to get unloaded. You shoot Carmilla one last pointed look, then turn and head towards your front door.

Heavy snowflakes fall on your face, but that only makes you smile wider because it’s Christmastime, you’re home, you’re safe, and the front door is opening, warm light spilling out around the welcoming shape of your father.

He’s pulling you into a tight embrace before you can even drop your backpack, his beard pricking through your hair and tickling the top of your head as he presses a tender kiss there.

“Welcome home, pumpkin,” he says, his deep voice rumbling softly through his chest as you wrap your arms around him, letting comfort and peace wash over you. “I was getting worried with the snow.”

“Sorry. We got off later than I meant to. I would have texted, but –“

“No texting while driving. Good girl.”

You grin against his chest, not caring that he hasn’t let you go yet. There’s a pause, and then his body tenses slightly and he pulls back. “Wait, _we_?”

You glance at the car and see that Carmilla has made no effort to get out yet. God, she’s stubborn. You roll your eyes and make a gesture you hope that she can see for her to get out and join you already.

“Um, yeah. It turns out Carmilla goes to school with me and we decided to carpool home, but finals were pretty rough on her and she doesn’t feel like going home to her house just yet. Is it okay if she stays with us? For tonight, at least?”

You glance up at your dad and see a mix of emotions on his face. He gives you a grin and pats your back, but there’s the telltale glisten in his eyes that happens when he’s holding back tears. “Of course, pumpkin. Come on out, Carmilla! You’ll catch cold out here!”

His voice booms out, but gets muffled by the snow falling harder now. (It’s starting to stick to the grass, you note, and you grin at the prospect of a white Christmas this year.) He gives a welcoming wave towards the house, then turns back to you and guides you inside, relieving you of your backpack after you’ve set the other bag down, and helping you out of your coat. You kick off your shoes, take a deep breath of chocolate, cinnamon, apples, and…

“You made your roast?”

“Of course!”

Your mouth starts to water at the thought. There’s a creak of the screen door behind you and you turn to find a pale, sheepish-looking Carmilla standing in your doorway. Your dad instantly sweeps her into a warm embrace, then pulls back, concern etched on his features.

“You look like death, dear girl. Come in. Sit down. Get off your feet. Here, let me take that.”

He takes the duffel bag off Carmilla’s shoulder and bustles her inside and onto the couch before she has a chance to protest. He puts his hand to her forehead, brows creased in worry, and then he rushes off for medicine, no doubt.

You make your way over to the couch and plop down comfortably on the opposite side from Carmilla, who looks tense and a little overwhelmed. You have to admit, it’s a little weird seeing her in your space like this. It’s been a long time since it’s happened.

“You okay?”

She nods. “Yeah. Just…not the greeting I was expecting.”

You frown. Why not? Your dad is one of the warmest people you know. You can’t imagine him turning anyone away, especially at Christmastime, let alone Carmilla. “What were you expecting?”

She furrows her brows and opens her mouth to respond, but your dad hurries back into the room, pressing two little red pills into one of her hands and a glass of water into the other. She shoots you a quick shrug before taking the medicine.

“Right, well, there’s still a half hour left on that roast, unfortunately, but I made those cheese biscuits your mom always did, so we can snack on those while you two catch me up on college. Oh, and I made spiced cider. Who wants a mug?”

“Me!” you reply enthusiastically, raising your hand high in the air for good measure.

Carmilla glances at you like you might actually be five, and she laughs, shaking her head. “Me, too, please,” she says, half raising her own hand.

You shoot her a grin and she matches yours back, and suddenly it’s not quite so weird having her here.

\--

Carmilla doesn’t last very long past dinner before you’re showing her to the guest bedroom, helping her make the bed, and saying goodnight.

You’re about to close the door when Carmilla’s voice stops you.

“Laura?”

There are so few times that she uses your actual name versus some nickname she’s thought up (and it’s only recently that those have taken a turn from mildly insulting, it seems, though you haven’t questioned that change), that it makes you pay attention.

“Yeah?”

There’s an awkward pause and you look up at her as she squirms uncomfortably by the bed and clears her throat. “Thanks. For this. I…It’s good to not have to be home just yet.”

You’re not sure you can handle this genuine, vulnerable version of Carmilla right now. It’s throwing you off. You manage a small smile and a nod. You wrack your brain for something funny or witty or even sarcastic to say that will break the awkwardness, but you come up with nothing, and your mouth settles for, “Any time,” instead. When you close the door behind you, it’s with relief.

You pull out your phone and DM Will. You’re not sure when he’s getting back, but you figure he might as well know where his sister is. You hesitate before you press send, though, thinking about the strangeness of the situation. Hopefully he won’t question it.

He doesn’t. He just says he’ll come by tomorrow night after he gets back to help her get her stuff home.

\--

You should have known that LaFontaine wouldn’t be able to wait until tomorrow to see you. They barely knock before they’re running into your living room and wrapping you in a massive hug. You laugh and hug them tightly back and think how much you’ve missed them in the short month since Thanksgiving.

“Well, I think that’s this old man’s cue to get to bed,” your dad says, rising from his easy chair and offering up a warm smile.

“Hiya, Mr. H!” LaFontaine greets him.

“Hi, LaFontaine. Good semester?”

“Good semester,” they reply with a grin. Of all the parental reactions, you’re proud that your dad had taken LaFontaine’s transition from Susan and she/her to LaFontaine and they/them the easiest. LaFontaine had even camped out at your house for a few nights after leaving a note to tell their own parents, but, fortunately, their worry had been unnecessary.

“Good. You two behave. Try to keep the noise level down. Remember there are people trying to sleep.”

Your dad looks pointedly up the stairs and you nod quickly, hoping that LaFontaine doesn’t notice. Your dad smiles, and opens his arms for a hug that you willingly step in to.

“I missed ya, kiddo. Good to have you home.”

“Good to be home, Dad.” He pats you on the head and takes his leave.

LaFontaine jumps onto your couch with a wicked gleam in their eye. You join her warily.

“Who besides your dad is trying to sleep, little Laura?” Their eyes go wide. “DID YOU BRING HOME A GIRLFRIEND FROM COLLEGE TO MEET YOUR DAD? WHY DO I KNOW NOTHING OF A GIRLFRIEND??”

“Relax. There’s no girlfriend to know about. It’s just Carmilla.”

LaFontaine’s jaw drops. “Carmilla.”

You nod.

“Carmilla Karnstein?”

You squirm slightly, but confirm it with a small, “That’s the one.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that Carmilla Karnstein is asleep upstairs in your house right now?”

“It’s not a big deal?” you suggest, knowing full well that LaFontaine isn’t going to see it that way. To be honest, you’re not entirely sure you see it that way, but you’re trying to. “I ran into her after exams yesterday and she was literally on the verge of collapse from exhaustion so I took her back to my room because it was closer and she passed out and she’s basically been asleep since apart from when we packed up and I gave her a ride home.”

“NOT A BIG DEAL? You’re telling me you’ve spent the last twenty-four plus hours with cool, aloof, mysterious Carmilla Karnstein??? Carmilla Karnstein who you used to have a massive crush on? Oh, but no, that’s not a big deal at all!” LaFontaine rolls their eyes.

“Ssshhhhh!” you encourage with a glance up the stairs. In a lower voice you continue, “I did NOT have a massive crush on her. And she’s just a person.”

“You did, and she’s a mysterious person.”

“Did not and it’s still not a big deal.”

“If you say so,” LaFontaine says, clearly not believing you at all. “Wait, can we back up to the ‘you ran into her after exams yesterday’ part? You two go to school together??”

Oops. “Yeah.”

“How long have you known this?”

“Since right before Thanksgiving?”

“And you never mentioned it because…???”

“It’s not –“

“A big deal. Yeah. So you said.” LaFontaine eyes you suspiciously. “So do you two hang out a lot? Or…?”

“Not really. We’ve bumped into each other a few times. That’s all.” _Twice before yesterday and the first one was less of a bumping into and more of a spotting across the quad,_ you remind yourself, but there’s no reason LaFontaine needs the specifics.

“Until she slept in your bed for a day and came home from college with you.”

“Right,” you confirm slowly, seeing the weakness in your ‘it’s not a big deal’ argument.

“Home with you where she still is instead of at her own house like two blocks away.”

“Would you be in a rush to go home to her mother?”

“Point,” LaFontaine agreed. Nobody was horribly surprised when Ms. Morgan (she refused to ever take her husband’s last name and abhorred the use of the term Mrs.) was the only person to call LaFontaine Susan at graduation when the congratulations were being passed around from the parents. There had been more than one face reddened in anger, though, and you had had to ball your fists at your side to keep from giving in to your desire to hit her. “Okay, but really? Carmilla? How did you not die from sarcasm overload and deadly glares on the ride home?”

“She’s not that bad.”

“You would have agreed with me whole-heartedly that she was that bad when we finished school.”

“Are you the same person you were when you went off to college in August? Because I don’t think I am. I mean, I’m me, but I’ve changed too.”

LaFontaine nodded. “Yeah, okay, I guess. So what’s this new Carmilla like?”

There you have a bit of a problem, because the truth is that you still don’t really know. You shrug. “I dunno. She’s…nicer, I guess.”

LaFontaine’s giving you a look that clearly states that they have a little trouble believing that. “Nicer.”

You nod. “And, like…funnier?”

“You sound very sure of that.”

“I told you we haven’t spent a lot of time together!”

“Just the past twenty-four hours.”

“She was unconscious! It’s not like we were having in depth conversations while she slept.”

LaFontaine leans back and seems to relent a little, and you take a deep breath.

“So how long is she staying?”

You shrug again. “I don’t know. Just tonight, I think.”

LaFontaine studies you for a long minute until you’re squirming under their gaze.

“There’s really no girlfriend?”

You laugh. “No. No girlfriend.”

“You’d tell me if you started dating someone, right?”

“You would be my first text. Second at worst.”

LaFontaine grins. “Okay. So tell me about your college crushes, then.”

You groan and roll your eyes, but you feel a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you start to tell them about your English lit TA.

\--

It’s early morning before LaFontaine heads out (after making you promise to keep them updated on the Carmilla situation, which you tried telling them isn’t a situation, but they refused to listen). You drag your tired feet to bed and breathe in deeply when your face is buried in your pillow. It smells like home and it feels so good to be here. Your entire body relaxes in a way it hasn’t all semester as you sink into your mattress.

You roll to face the wall and close your eyes, and then you remember who exactly is on the other side of that wall. You open your eyes as if you’ve suddenly gained x-ray vision and will be able to see her through the wall. It’s stupid, and instead you’re just met with the pale green of your wall.

LaFontaine pestering you with questions had only served to remind you that you still really know so little about who she is now. You’d listened curiously as she’d filled in your dad a little on her semester, at his insistence, but you know he didn’t push too hard because she wasn’t feeling well. The little you had garnered told you that she is way more focused than you feel. She has drive and direction, neither of which you knew about. Meanwhile, you’re floating kind of aimlessly, still unsure of what major you should go for (although your public speaking prof had mentioned that he could see you in broadcast news some day after you’d handed in your vlog project, and that idea has been kicking around in your head ever since).  

You’d seen something in her eyes, this excited gleam, when she’d talked about working on one of her final drawings. You’d been able to see her passion, and it somehow made you feel more alive.

You shake your head and take a deep breath. Home, you remind yourself. You’re home. Carmilla is going to her home, probably tomorrow. She won’t be here. You’ll probably barely see her all break. It’s not like you hung out a lot when you were in high school, after all. You hate the way your chest tightens at the thought.

It’s probably for the best, though.

Except Carmilla Karnstein has been a part of your life in one way or another for a very long time, and, despite what you might have thought at one point, you don’t want that to end.


	4. Adjustment Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura adjusts back to life at home with her dad and her friends, only this time she's making room for Carmilla, too.

You never dream of her these days, but here she is, arms stretched wide, the smile that you recognize as so similar to the one on your own face, her soft brown eyes darker than your own, her hair light and flowy. She wraps you in a tight embrace and you’re little again in her arms, holding her close and breathing her in, her voice that you only ever hear in dreams anymore murmuring soothing words into your hair.

“I miss you,” gets whispered from your lips.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” comes her reply.

But then you’re not alone. Your mother is looking past you with a kind smile and she holds out a delicate hand. “Come,” she beckons, and when you turn you’re met with dark hair, dark eyes, and an enigmatic smile.

Your mother folds you both into an embrace, Carmilla’s head next to yours on her chest, her eyes watching you curiously.

“You girls were always so good together.”

You frown because that’s not true. You might have been almost friends once, but that was such a long time ago. You try to tell your mom, but she’s running a soothing hand through your hair and Carmilla brings a finger to your lips and shakes her head. Why doesn’t she protest? Why doesn’t she want you to?

“Find home in each other,” your mother says, and that doesn’t make any sense to you at all, but Carmilla’s finger is still on your lips, so all you do is furrow your brows.

Carmilla moves closer, and you’re no longer little. You’re your age, and your mother’s arms are falling away, but you don’t want to let her go, so you reach out, but her fingers slip through yours. She’s being pulled back by some invisible force, and you move to chase her, but Carmilla’s arms are around your waist.

“Mom!” you yell desperately, but she’s growing smaller as she’s pulled into the distance.

You struggle against Carmilla’s arms, but she doesn’t let you go, and then your eyes fly open and you’re alone snuggled up in your childhood bedroom.

You swallow hard, and blink blearily at the familiar sights in your room, trying to regain your hold on reality and shake of the remnants of your dream. You can still feel Carmilla’s arms around your waist, but you know they were never there. It’s weird that you dreamt of her.

(You don’t want to think of your mother’s face, of her presence in your dream. It’s too painful now that you’re awake. You don’t like to think of her this time of year. You don’t like to make the holidays sad.)

You remember the events of the last day and who exactly is on the other side of the wall next to your bed, and realize that maybe it’s not so strange after all.

\--

She looks better, is the first thing you think when you see her sitting at the kitchen table shoveling pancakes into her mouth.

Your dad turns from where he’s standing at the stove, pancakes sizzling in a pan, and gives you a massive grin. “Morning, pumpkin. Have a seat. I’ll get you some pancakes.”

You beam back at him and take a seat next to Carmilla, who shoots you a sheepish smile. You still feel the echoes of dream Carmilla’s arms around your waist and her finger on your lips. You swallow hard and manage a small smile back.

“Morning, pumpkin,” she echoes your dad with a smirk and you shoot her a glare, but you’re not really offended at the mocking because you can tell she doesn’t mean it.

What you’re struck by, instead, is the way this feels far too natural. Having her there, teasing you, it feels like it was meant to happen. You push the thought away as wishful thinking from a you that you tell yourself no longer exists. (LaFontaine was not really as wrong as you wish they were about that massive crush.)

“These pancakes are absolutely delicious, Mr. Hollis,” Carmilla says in an overly polite voice that you’ve never heard her use before. Even in school she was only borderline respectful to the teachers.

You squint at her, but she ignores you in favor of offering your dad a wide smile.

“Now, Carmilla, we’ve talked about this. Are we going to have a problem here?” Your dad puts a hand on his hip and attempts to give her a stern look that is undermined by the barely repressed grin and the crinkle around his eyes. “Call me Henry, young lady, or no seconds for you.”

Carmilla chuckles. “Sorry. How about we compromise on Mr. H?”

“I can handle that. All right. You get seconds.”

You roll your eyes. As if your dad would really have withheld food from anyone, the big softy.

“But not,” your dad continues, “until my lovely daughter gets firsts.” He flips two out of the pan and onto a plate before setting it before you.

You quickly slather them in butter and maple syrup and start to devour them. They are exactly as good as you remember them being and you close your eyes and sigh contentedly before smushing more into your already full mouth.

“Don’t forget to chew, cupcake,” Carmilla goads you playfully.

You make an exaggerated show of chewing, and, when you’re sure your dad isn’t looking, you open your mouth so she can see the chewed remnants on your tongue.

“Ew, gross,” Carmilla complains, but there’s a hint of laughter in her eyes. “Grow up.”

“I will when you do,” you shoot back.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” she replies.

You grin and she returns it, and when you look up, you see your dad looking at the two of you with an expression you can’t quite place, but it makes your chest ache a little. He turns quickly back to the pancakes in the pan ready to be flipped, but you’re sure you see the hints of moisture in his eyes before he does.

“So, what are your plans for the day, girls?” he asks, and you’re sure his voice sounds a little choked up, but you don’t want to comment on it in front of Carmilla.

You look to Carmilla to answer first, unsure of exactly what she’s thinking now that she’s looking better. She only lives a few blocks away. She’s probably going to go home soon. (You tell yourself you’re not disappointed at that thought.)

“Ummm, I thought…If it’s all right, if I’m not ruining any plans or anything, that maybe I could hang out here for a bit? I didn’t actually get to see Laura much this semester, so I thought maybe we could properly catch up.” She shoots you a questioning look, which you must answer with an incredulous one, because her brows furrow and then she mutters, “Or not…”

“No!” you declare a little too quickly. “I mean, yes! That would be cool.” Except it would also be incredibly weird. Just the fact that she used your actual name (although, okay, she was really talking to your dad, so you get why she did) and seems to want to spend time with you even now that you’re home, is strange.

“Well, I know it’s your first day back and you are probably anxious to go see all your friends, and I’m sure you two girls don’t want an old man hanging around –“

“Dad,” you go to protest him calling himself old, but he raises a hand to silence you.

“-but I would like it if you could at least be here for meals with me?”

“Of course,” you reply. Like you’re really going to pass up on your dad’s cooking for a single meal while you’re home. You’re looking forward to being well-fed for almost a whole month.

“The offer extends to you, too, Carmilla,” your dad says, turning to her.

“Oh, um, thanks, Mr. Hol- Mr. H. I’ll let you know.”

He grins broadly and turns back to the pancakes. “Who wants seconds?”

“Me!” you and Carmilla chime at the same time.

\--

“Really?”

Carmilla nods.

“God, no wonder you slept for 24-hours straight. I can’t believe you got all that done.”

“It’s only gonna get worse. I think I basically am going to live in the art building for the next three and a half years.”

“Well, no wonder I never see you. Guess that’s not apt to change.”

Carmilla frowns. “No, we’ll make time. I may not be the most social person in the world –“

You shoot her a look that very clearly says, “No shit, Sherlock.”

She glares and mutters, “Shut up,” before continuing. “Anyway, as I was saying, it’s good to get out in the world from time to time. I’ll just do away with things like sleep. Who needs that anyway?”

“Umm…Everyone? You, clearly. You already look tired again.”

Carmilla wrinkles her nose. “I may be considering an afternoon nap,” she admits.

You gasp in mock offense and Carmilla rolls her eyes.

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t actually have plans with the dimwit squad today. I’m sure you’re just dying to go meet up with redheads 1, 2, and 3.”

You frown. The dimwit squad? Are you a part of that? The words and the tone had sounded like the old Carmilla, and you’re not sure if you should be offended by that or not.

“I’m not going to keep you from your friends, cupcake. You don’t have to stay with me out of misplaced pity. I’ll head home after my nap. I have to face Maman sooner or later, anyway. Besides, the fever’s been down today.”

Something tugs at your heart strings, but you push it away. “I was supposed to meet Danny,” you admit. Danny who had been none-too-pleased at your text cancelling your plans. Danny who you were definitely going to have to buy something extra nice for Christmas to make it up to her.

Carmilla frowns. “When?”

You check your phone. “Nowish.”

“Then why are you still here with me?”

“Because…” your answer dies on your lips. You don’t really _have_ an answer, you realize. You just hadn’t wanted to leave her. You hadn’t wanted to risk losing this new Carmilla that you’ve really enjoyed talking to all day. You hadn’t wanted to leave the small smiles and the dark, interested eyes.

You shrug.

Carmilla rolls her eyes again. “Go. Go text her and tell her you’ll meet her in a minute. Go on. I won’t be offended. You don’t have to stay and entertain me, cupcake. I don’t think I really count as a proper house guest, so you’re not being a bad host.”

You hesitate for a moment and Carmilla nudges you with her elbow.

“Go on!” she urges. “I’m just going to go to sleep anyway.”

“Okay,” you relent, unsure why you feel quite so disappointed. You’re going to get to go see one of your best friends in the world. Danny will be excited to see you. You manage a small smile and pull out your phone to text Danny that if she’s still free, you can meet her in ten minutes.

\--

“Really? Kirsch? You’re Christmas shopping with Kirsch?”

“Well _he_ was actually _free_ ,” Danny replies pointedly.

You shoot her an apologetic look. “I said I was sorry!”

“You’re forgiven, but you still need to explain your sudden changes in plans.”

“I’m here now,” you point out, hoping to get back in Danny’s good graces without actually having to explain cancelling on her earlier.

“True,” Danny replies, pulling you into another hug, and you have to admit that you’re glad you came.

It’s a little awkward, though. You’re not sure if it’s your earlier flakiness or Kirsch’s presence, but the conversation doesn’t flow quite as easily as you think it should, and there’s a slight tension in the air. You just saw her a month ago. How much could have possibly changed in a month to make something that had felt so easy then, feel a little harder now?

\--

You get coffee at Starbucks and Kirsch tells you about all the stupid things he’s had to do to pledge this frat at his school. You and Danny spend most of the conversation rolling your eyes at each other, but he seems so excited by his new bros that you end up smiling encouragingly at him.

Danny gives him a hard time, but there’s an affection to it, and you think maybe their relationship has changed a little now that they’re in college. It’s a little weird to think that they get to hang out on a semi-regular basis, and you can’t help but wonder what they’re like together away from home.

“So how was your semester, little nerd?” Kirsch turns and asks you.

You roll the eyes at the nickname you’ve tried time and time again to get him to drop. It feels almost like home when he says it now.

“It was good. Busy. I thought I’d have a major all figured out by now, but I feel just as clueless as when I went off to college.”

“Oh, thank God! Me, too!” Danny exclaims, but Kirsch just looks confused.

“Don’t we, like, not have to even declare until the end of sophomore year? We’ve got loads of time yet!”

You and Danny exchange a look that you’ve exchanged so many times before. Maybe the awkwardness from earlier was just a small adjustment period that was needed to get you back into home mode because this dynamic right now feels familiar and right.

Danny ruffles Kirsch’s hair in what you can’t help feel is an oddly affectionate manner for them. “Oh, Kirsch,” she sighs before turning back to you. “So, do you have any ideas at all?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. My public speaking prof seemed to think that I might like journalism or communication or something.”

“Little feisty reporter Hollis? I could see that,” Danny laughs.

“Really?” you ask, squinting up at her to try to determine if she’s being genuine or if she’s just teasing you.

Danny nods encouragingly. “Yeah. You’ve always been curious, digging into things you shouldn’t.”

“Heeey!”

Danny laughs again. “I meant that in a good way. Remember when you helped uncover what exactly the mystery meat was in the cafeteria? I appreciated that, even if the school board didn’t.”

“They threatened to suspend me.”

“But they had no grounds, and they didn’t,” Danny replied.

“I didn’t get what the big deal was. It was still protein. Protein’s good for you!”

You and Danny shoot Kirsch another one of the looks that conveys a mixture of “are you insane, Kirsch?” and “how have you even made it to be this age with the way you think?”

“What about you?” you ask, turning back to Danny. “No idea at all what you want to major in?”

Dany shrugs and shakes her head. “Not really. I mean I’ve been pledging the Summer Society and between that and practice and games…I basically just have time to study and go to class. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for thinking about what I want to do in life. Why do they expect us to make such a massive decision at eighteen or nineteen anyway? Who has that figured out already? Like, we’ve barely explored the world yet, how are we supposed to know what we want to do for the next several decades of our life?”

You nod along, agreeing completely, and then you think of Carmilla, who already seems so sure in what she wants, and you wonder what the difference is between you. Why does she already have a plan when you and Danny feel so lost? What makes that happen for people?

“Some people seem to have it worked out,” you mumble.

“Yeah, but they’re weird,” Danny declares. You laugh, but your mind still lingers on Carmilla.

(You have to resist the urge to pull out your phone and text her to check on her. She’s sleeping, you remind yourself. Plus, you still neglected to get her number, so it’s really not an option.)

\--

A black leather bound sketchbook with a buckle clasp catches your eye in a store, and it screams Carmilla to you. It’s silly, you think, because you don’t even know for sure that she’d like it. She probably doesn’t need a sketchbook. She’s an art student. She probably has tons. Besides, it would be weird if you got her a Christmas present, right? You’ve barely talked all semester, and it’s not like you’d been the type of friends who exchanged gifts in high school. You’re not even entirely sure you qualify as proper friends now. It seems like maybe you’re heading that way, but you don’t want to count your chickens before they’re hatched.

She’d probably think that you were being weird or clingy or something.

“Who’s that for?” Danny asks, peering over the top of your head.

You put it back on the shelf. “No one,” you murmur.

She shoots you a curious look, but fortunately doesn’t press you further. “Did you find something for your dad yet?”

You hold up the two massive historical fiction novels that you’d tucked under your arm. Your dad eats them up. You still need to get some of the expensive hot chocolate that he likes (at least you know where you got your sweet-tooth from), and then you’ll be all set for him. You brought him a T-shirt from school, too.

“Nice. Okay, well, I’m ready to pay,” she says, holding up an anthology of scary stories that you’re sure is for LaFontaine.

You have to wait in line for a while, and you can see Kirsch standing outside the store, peering in at you, so you wave, and chat with Danny, when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

You grin when you see it’s a text from SJ, but your grin turns to an eye roll once you read the text.

**_SJ_ ** _(4:10 p.m.): How’s the sleepy hottie?_

**_Laura_ ** _(4:11 p.m.): *groan* Pls don’t call her that!_

You start to put your phone away, but it vibrates again. You notice Danny shooting you a curious look as you shuffle forward in the line.  

**_SJ_ ** _(4:12 p.m.): Sleepy?_

You narrow your eyes at your phone as if SJ could see your reaction, even though she’s hundreds of miles away. Danny leans over your shoulder, eying your phone.

“Who you texting? Got a girlfriend you haven’t told me about?”

You laugh at the idea of SJ being your girlfriend and shake your head as you type out your text response.

**_Laura_ ** _(4:14 p.m.): I hate you._

**_SJ_ ** _(4:16 p.m.): Do you have a crush on her yet?_

**_Laura_ ** _(4:16 p.m.): A lot._

**_SJ_ ** _(4:17 p.m.): Of crushes???_

You sigh and turn back to Danny who is eying you in a way that makes it clear that she doesn’t believe that you’re not, in fact, texting a girlfriend that you’ve neglected to mention.

“You sure it’s not a girlfriend? That was an awfully big grin you got when you got the first text.”

“I’m sure,” you reply.

**_Laura_ ** _(4:21 p.m.): You’re being difficult on purpose!_

**_SJ_ ** _(4:22 p.m.): Maybe. ;) You love me anyway._

**_Laura_ ** _(4:22 p.m.): Maybe._

“Are you flirting? Is this someone you want to be your girlfriend?” Danny asks, blatantly reading over your shoulder now.

You laugh as you move forward in line again. It’s almost Danny’s turn you note. (You tell yourself that next year you won’t put off shopping until the last minute because you always hate the crowds of holiday shoppers).

**_Laura_ ** _(4:23 p.m.): Great, now Danny thinks I have a crush on you and you think I have a crush on Carmilla._

**_SJ_ ** _(4:24 p.m.): Well, I am pretty awesome._

“Do you have a cruuuush?” Danny teases.

“No,” you assure her, wishing fervently that both she and SJ would believe that.

**_Laura_ ** _(4:25 p.m.): You are soooo not my type._

“So who ARE you texting, if not a crush?”

“Just SJ,” you inform her as she moves up to pay.

You get called up to the counter shortly after by a different teller and you put your phone away long enough to pay for the books for your dad, then pull it back out as you exit the store and start to walk on through the mall.

 “SJ, your friend from school?” Danny asks.

You nod as your phone vibrates again.

**_SJ_ ** _(4:28 p.m.): Awesome isn’t your type? Do you go more for dark and mysterious, then?_

You glare at your phone. You do not like what she’s implying.

“SJ, your friend who you saw like every day all semester?”

You hear the slight accusation in Danny’s voice, and you know you’re being a little bit rude. You shoot her an apologetic look as your phone vibrates again.

**_SJ_ ** _(4:30 p.m.): Cause, you know you didn’t actually say no about having a crush on sleepy hottie, right?_

You groan out loud.

“I mean if it was someone you were trying to date, I’d get it, but you DID just spend all semester with her. We haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving.” Okay, Danny definitely has a point.

“I don’t mind if little hottie wants to text her friend. She’s a chick. Chicks are good at multitasking. She won’t ignore us,” Kirsch pipes up, earning himself a glare from Danny and an appreciative smile from you.

**_Laura_ ** _(4:32 p.m.): THERE IS NO CRUSH! I HAVE NO CRUSHES ON ANYONE!_

**_SJ_ ** _(4:33 p.m.): Methinks the lady doth protest too much._

You shake your head at your phone and glance quickly at Danny to see her frowning disapprovingly.

“I’m feeling selfish,” Danny confesses. “I want my Laura time before we have to leave each other again in a month!”

“Sorry, let me just text her back that I’ll talk to her later,” you say as you turn into another store that smells a little too strongly of the lotions and perfumes that it sells.

**_Laura_ ** _(4:35 p.m.): I am protesting the perfect amount. There is no crush._

**_Laura_ ** _(4:36 p.m.): I gotta go. Danny’s glaring at me for being on my phone. Ttyl._

You shove your phone back in your pocket and offer Danny a smile, which she returns. She holds up a lotion for you to smell, and you have trouble picking up the scent amongst the mix that permeates the store, but finally you get a proper whiff and you shake your head. “Too sugary for your mom. She’s more of a floral person.”

Danny nods her agreement and holds up a few more options for you to sniff. She offers them to Kirsch to smell, too, but he wrinkles his nose and shrugs, looking somewhat uncomfortable in his current surroundings.

“They all smell the same to me, D-bear,” he replies, and you note that Danny doesn’t protest the nickname.

You feel your phone vibrate again and you tell yourself to ignore it, but you hate knowing you have unread messages, so when Danny turns her back to reach for something on a high shelf, you pull out your phone to check.

It’s from a number you don’t recognize, but the message makes your eyes go wide.

**_Unknown_ ** _(4:40 p.m.): Hey, it’s Carmilla. Your dad gave me your number. He wanted me to text you about organic milk or something. Get some, I think. Apparently I’m staying for dinner. Going back to sleep now._

You hear Danny sigh, but you’re too distracted by the sudden rapid beating of your heart to notice that she’s grabbing for your phone until it’s too late.

“Who is it now?” she asks, picking up the phone.

“Carmilla,” you reply, still a little in shock.

Danny glances up sharply from your phone and fixes you with an incredulous look. “Sorry, I must have something in my ears. It sounded like you said ‘Carmilla’.”

You take her momentary distraction as an opportunity to attempt to snatch your phone back, but she easily holds it out of your reach. “I did,” you mutter as her eyes scan the text.

She makes a face and hands the phone back to you.

“Why is Carmilla texting you?” Danny demands, Carmilla’s name sounding like a bad word the way she enunciates it. “What does she mean she’s staying for dinner? Is she at your house?”

“Yes, she is, and I assume it means exactly what it sounds like. She is going to be eating dinner at my house.”

“Why?” Danny asks, her tone the same as if you’d said you had invited Satan himself to dine with you.

Okay, so she and Carmilla never really got along, but Danny is seriously overreacting, here, and you can’t help feeling a little defensive.

“My guess is my dad invited her,” you reply.

“But why is she there in the first place? And why is she texting you?”

You’d been vaguely aware of Kirsch inching backwards, his head bouncing back and forth between you as if watching a ping pong match. “I’m just gonna…I just remembered something else I wanted to get. I’ll be back.”

You nod at him, but Danny barely acknowledges it as she crosses her arms and taps her foot, impatient for your answer.

“My dad asked her to ask me to buy milk,” you reply, knowing full well that you’re not giving her any information she didn’t get from the text.

“LAURA!”

You sigh and relent a little, though you feel like Danny’s not going to take this reply much better. “I gave her a ride home yesterday and we got in late, so she just stayed at my house rather than dealing with her mom.”

The mention of Carmilla’s mom gives Danny pause. Even standing a few inches taller than her, Danny couldn’t help being intimidated by the woman. None of you envied Carmilla and Will for their adopted mother. Danny couldn’t wish someone as cold as Lilita Morgan on anyone, even Carmilla. You see understanding flick across Danny’s face, but then she frowns.

“Wait. A ride home? …From school? She goes to your school?”

You can’t help but wish that your friends would stop reacting like this. It’s not like you’ve been keeping some massive secret on purpose. Honestly, you may as well _not_ have gone to school with her for as much as you saw her. You sigh. “Yes.”

“And you never mentioned this because…?”

“I only found out like a month ago. It’s not like we’re suddenly besties who hang out all the time,” you assure her.

Danny seems somewhat appeased, but mumbles, “You still could’ve mentioned it.”

“Well, now you know,” you reply. You start to relax as she turns to a shelf of body sprays, and you start to rummage through a small bin of season lib balms.

“But are you two like actual proper friends now?” she asks after a minute of browsing the shelves.

You don’t really know how to answer that, but you decide that maybe, in this case, honesty is the best policy. “I don’t know. She’s Carmilla.”

That, finally, makes Danny grin. You hadn’t necessarily meant it in an insulting way, but you’re not about to point that out when Danny chuckling softly and nodding along with a, “True dat.”

Danny reaches for another lotion and holds it out to you. “What about this one.”

You nod your approval. “Your mom will love it.”

“Thanks,” she replies with a smile. “Sorry I grabbed your phone. That was a dick move.”

“I’m pretty sure I once hijacked your phone and sent texts to Louisa Acevedo when you had a crush on her sophomore year, so I suppose I can forgive this,” you reply with a wink.

“Hey, that landed me a date! No complaints here!” Danny reminds you.

“I remember a few complaints at the time,” you shoot back, sticking out your tongue. She laughs and sticks her tongue back out at you, and just like that the tension in the air between you clears.

You make a mental note not to bring up Carmilla too much with Danny around, though. Maybe it’s about time you ask what their issue is with each other, anyway.

Kirsch reappears as you’re exiting the store and presents each of you with a small gift bag. “Merry Christmas,” he mumbles with a shy grin. “Don’t open them until Christmas, though!” he warns when you start to peek into the bag.

You roll your eyes, but nod. You wrap him in a tight thank you hug, tugging Danny in with you (because you’re still fairly certain that she wouldn’t concede to hug him on her own).

“Okay, this is getting too sappy,” Danny mumbles and you laugh.

(You try not to think that that sounds like something Carmilla would complain about. You REALLY try not to be too excited that she’s still going to be there when you get home.)


	5. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura celebrates Christmas (and maybe has some inappropriate thoughts about Carmilla).

“Dig in, dig in. No need to wait for me,” your dad urges.

You pick up your fork and are about to lift a heaping mouthful of lasagna to your mouth, when you realize that Carmilla is still sitting politely, waiting for your dad to take a seat. Sheepishly you set your fork back down and do your best to pretend that you hadn’t been about to eat before everyone was seated, but Carmilla smirks at you across the table.

A moment later, your dad sets down a bowl full of garlic bread on the table and takes his seat. “Okay, now dig in,” he says with a sigh and a small smile.

Carmilla smiles back at him and takes a bite of food. You’re about to shovel your own fork into your mouth when Carmilla closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and lets out a moan that’s bordering on erotic.

“Oh. My. God. Mr. H, this is delicious,” Carmilla declares.

Heat pools low in your stomach and you can feel a blush creeping up your face. Thoughts that you very definitely should NOT be having about Carmilla Karnstein are flitting through your mind, and the fact that they’re occurring while at the dinner table with both her AND YOUR FATHER only makes it even worse.

You look down at your plate and take a large bite of your food, but you can’t even taste it because you’re too busy being embarrassed by your own train of thoughts. You keep your eyes firmly down so that you don’t have to make eye contact with either your dad or Carmilla until you can shake the memory of Carmilla’s moan and the inappropriate thoughts from your mind.

Unfortunately, Carmilla notices. Of course she does.

“All right, there, cupcake? You look a little flushed.”

Yeah. A lot flushed. You’re blushing for goodness sake. You’re blushing because you can’t seem to stop your brain from replaying Carmilla’s moan over and over, only in your head the thing that’s causing that moan is your head between her legs.

You need to stop these thoughts immediately. You cannot have a crush on her. You are an adult now and you are off at college and there are so many girls that you haven’t met that you might be interested in. You should not be focusing on a girl you’ve known almost all your life. You do NOT need to revive this stupid crush that you had on Carmilla when you were growing up. You do not need to be romantically interested in the most emotionally unavailable person that you know. You need to see if you can actually become her friend. That is all that you want from her: friendship.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumble, shoveling another bite of food in your mouth. It’s possible, though, that you should have blown on it first, because now your tongue is burning. You attempt to blow on it while your mouth is still full of lasagna, which does nothing to cool your tongue, but does result in half of the food in your mouth falling back onto your plate.

“Attractive,” Carmilla comments, and you shoot her a glare, then instantly remember why you’d been avoiding eye contact and choke on the remaining food in your mouth that you’d been attempting to get down your throat.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” you dad asks, his voice laced with concern. He pats you heavily on the back and you manage to get yourself to stop coughing and nod at him.

“Just ate too fast,” you croak.

Carmilla raises an eyebrow at you across the table, and you look back down at your plate again, trying not to blush.

It doesn’t work.

You’ve just managed to stop occasionally coughing when you feel something nudge your shin. You resist the urge to look up at Carmilla, assuming that it must have been an accident. A moment later it happens again, the touch lingering pointedly for a few seconds. You look up, your curiosity getting the better of you, and Carmilla is watching you with a slight squint.

She tilts her head to the side a little and raises an eyebrow at you. You’re not sure if her look is asking “Everything okay?” or telling you that you’re a big dork, so you look back down at your plate. Her foot nudges you again, and this time when you look up, both eyebrows are raised expectantly. You take a chance that her expression means that she is in fact checking on your well-being, so you nod. You’re still not willing to make eye contact for too long. Not with the sound of Carmilla’s moan still echoing in your head and the thoughts that it had brought up in you still so fresh. You do catch the slight frown on Carmilla’s face as you quickly look away again, though.

“You know, your dad loved this lasagna,” your dad says, and both you and Carmilla look up awkwardly at the unexpected conversation topic.

It’s not an outright rule, but you never talk about him with her. You can’t remember the last time you heard your dad bring him up, either.

“He used to always ask me to bring it to his potlucks. Do you girls remember those? And the barbeques?”

You glance at Carmilla who’s looking back down at her plate, fork picking idly at a lasagna noodle.

Your turn back to your father who is regarding the two of you fondly, a hint of moisture in his eyes. You nod, wishing earnestly for a change in subject.

“It doesn’t feel like so long ago, but then I look at the two of you sitting here. You’re both so grown up, now.”

Carmilla’s eyes dart to you and you try to express with your eyes alone that you’re as uncomfortable with this conversation as she appears, but your dad apparently doesn’t notice.

“He was a good man. He’d have been proud of you, you know.”

“I dunno about that,” Carmilla mumbles.

Your dad misses it. He’s lost in memory lane.

You frown at Carmilla. You want to ask why she’d say that, but you’re sure you’re not at that place in your relationship. Inquiries about future plans and art? Sure. Questions involving dead fathers? Not so much.

(It doesn’t matter that you know better than anyone what she might be feeling right now.)

“He had such a sense of humor. He and I would laugh for hours on end.”

You watch Carmilla visibly shrink in her seat, and you’re opening your mouth to suggest a subject change, when your dad adds, “God, I miss him. I miss them both,” in a choked voice.

You don’t know if it’s his tone or his words, but you feel tears prick the backs of your eyes. You will them away as your dad shakes his head.

“Listen to me, prattling on about old times. What must you think of this silly old man?” he asks, nudging Carmilla’s arm with his elbow and winking.

Carmilla manages a weak smile.

Your dad takes a deep breath and straightens. His eyes search the table. “I forgot to make salad!” he exclaims, standing up abruptly.

Carmilla scoffs. “Laura eats salad?”

You narrow your eyes at her and your dad looks surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I just remember her being more of a pb&j and chocolate chip cookie kind of girl in high school,” Carmilla replies. “I’ve never known someone with a bigger sweet tooth.”

“Wait, how do you even know that? It’s not like we EVER ate lunch together,” you blurt before you can think better of it.

Your father has a small frown tugging at his lips and Carmilla’s eyebrow is raised again, and you feel suddenly very under a microscope.

“I’m observant, cupcake.”

“Laura, I thought you told me there were vegetables in the school lunches,” your dad accuses, and you’re kind of thankful that _that’s_ what he’s focusing on right now.

“I ate fruit!” you attempt to defend yourself. It’s not like you never had the school lunches, but the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from the school store were so cheap and so much tastier.

“In the jelly, maybe,” Carmilla mutters.

You stick out your tongue and she smirks back, but you hear the low rumble of a pleasant-sounding chuckle emanating from her, and you end up smiling back.

“Well, then, I’m DEFINITELY making salad,” your dad replies, turning his back as he opens the fridge.

“Tattletale,” you accuse, sticking out your tongue again.

“Do I need to make sure you’re eating a more well-balanced diet at college, cutie?” Carmilla murmurs across the table in a voice low enough that your dad can’t hear.

You feel your cheeks flush at the nickname. You contemplate the idea of saying yes just because it might mean that Carmilla will be around more, but that’s silly and immature, and maybe a bit manipulative, so you sigh and shake your head instead. “Don’t worry, Natalie makes sure I eat properly at least once a week. Anyway, you’re one to talk, Miss ‘I-Don’t-Need-Sleep-Until-I-Collapse-From-Fever’.”

Carmilla wiggles her head from side to side, smirk still on her face. “Okay. Fair point,” she concedes.

You glance at your dad who has taken the entire contents of the vegetable drawer out of the fridge, from the looks of it, and is attempting to put all of it in the salad bowl. You roll your eyes and grin.

“Dad, you know I’m not actually in high school anymore, right?”

“That’s what worries me. You’re having plenty of vegetables every day that you’re home, young lady.”

“Good call, Mr. H,” Carmilla agrees.

“And you may not be staying here, but you need to get plenty of rest, Carmilla. At least eight hours a night.”

You can’t help shooting Carmilla a smug look. She glares back, but replies with a promise of, “I’ll do my best.”

\--

You wrap Will in a tight embrace when he arrives at your doorstep, looking a bit sheepish.

“Sorry you’ve had to put up with my sister. When she told me she ran into you at school, I had no idea she intended to make you drive her home.”

You try not to think about the fact that Carmilla had thought to mention you to Will. (You tell yourself you do NOT wonder what else she might have said.)

You step back, smile, and shrug. “She’s not so bad.”

“We’re talking about the same girl, right? Carmilla? Karnstein? Long, dark hair? Annoying smirk? Sarcastic asshole?”

“Nice to see you too, loser,” Carmilla says, stepping towards you and wrapping Will into a hug that almost seems like it surprises him.

“Wow, Kitty, you look like crap.”

Carmilla turns the hug into a headlock and gives him a noogie. “Thought I told you not to call me that, Willy-boy.”

Will ducks out of Carmilla’s hold, slapping her hands away, and narrows his eyes. “Just like I asked you not to call me that.”

Carmilla shrugs. “Turnabout is fair play.”

You’re repressing a laugh at this point, and you don’t remember seeing them act like this in recent years. You know Will’s relationship with Carmilla has always been different from that of the rest of the group’s to her. Of course it is. They’re siblings. There’s an affection to their teasing, though, that wasn’t present in high school. At least, not in public.

“Really? This is the one you think isn’t so bad?” Wil asks, turning back to you.

You grin. “Well, she doesn’t call _me_ Willy-boy.”

“Good answer, cupcake,” Carmilla replies with a smirk that you’re fairly certain is barely containing a full-on grin.

“Then again, she _does_ call me _that_ ,” you say, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Carmilla shrugs, her eyes trained on you, and you can almost see laughter dancing there. It’s unexpected, and yet, strangely familiar. You knew a laughing Carmilla once, you remind yourself. A lifetime ago. You don’t want to think of her, though. You can’t without thinking about why she stopped laughing, and dinner with your dad made you remember far too much already tonight.

Will’s eyes dart from you to Carmilla and back, and a small frown forms on his face, but then he shakes his head and turns expectantly to Carmilla.

“So, you ready to go face Maman?”

“No.”

“That makes two of us,” Will sighs. “I wish Mattie was coming home today instead of tomorrow.”

“I wish she’d stay past Christmas Day,” Carmilla admits.

“Wait, she’s coming home for a day? That’s it?” you ask, aghast. You know she hasn’t been back much since she left for college a few years ago, but you’d thought that she was probably at least around for holidays. Especially given how close she and Carmilla always were. There was one person Carmilla always seemed willing to talk to and spend time with, and that was Mattie. You’d noticed how she’d closed off even more once Mattie had gone off to college, and that was definitely saying something. Carmilla had been in foster care with Mattie before they’d gotten adopted together. You remember Carmilla’s dad saying once upon a time that Mattie had insisted that if she was getting adopted, her sister Carmilla had to come, too. They aren’t blood sisters, but you know family isn’t always about shared DNA, and the bond between them is undeniable.

“I don’t think she’d come home at all if Maman didn’t require it,” Carmilla mutters.

You frown. “I’m sure she’d still come home to see you.”

Carmilla gives you a small, slightly sad, half-smile. “Sure, cupcake.”

Your brows furrow for a moment, and then you realize that Carmilla and Will are both still standing awkwardly in you entranceway.

“Will, why don’t you come in and hang out for a while? Tell me all about school. I missed you at Thanksgiving,” you invite.

His answering smile and sigh (of relief, you’re sure) is enough to let you know that he’d been hoping for that invitation.

(You notice that Carmilla’s shoulders relax a little, too. You wonder if it’s because she gets to spend more time with you or she just doesn’t have to see her mother yet.)

(The latter. You’re sure it’s the latter.)

\--

“Ah, good. Three able-bodied youths. Just what I need.”

You look up, slightly alarmed, not sure what your dad is implying until you see the overflowing box of Christmas tree decorations in his arms.

Will gets quickly to his feet and takes the box from your dad with a polite greeting.

“William! You’re looking well. How’s college treating you?”

“Just fine, sir, thank you.”

“Sir? William, you know better than that by now, surely.”

Will grins. “I’ll call you Henry when you call me Will.”

Your dad beams back and pats him firmly on the back with a soft chuckle. “Good man. Very well, Will. Would you like to help us trim the tree?”

“Of course!”

“Carmilla?” your dad asks.

“Sure, Mr. H,” she replies, but there’s a slight unsteadiness to her voice.

You remember your conversation from the ride down about how this isn’t something she ever gets to do at home. Not anymore, at least. You shoot her a concerned look, but she’s already standing and moving to peer into the box that Will’s setting down by the tree.

“You three get started. I’m off to battle the tangle of Christmas lights. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” you reply, Will and Carmilla’s voices echoing behind yours.

“Wow, you guys have a lot of decorations,” Will says, beginning to rummage through the box.

You shrug. “It’s not that many.” That’s a lie. Your tree is always overflowing with all the ornaments, every branch weighed down, and some inevitably left in the box.

“It’s tons!” Will contradicts. He holds up a flat wooden bear, smiling face painted on, holding a heart that has ‘Laura’ painted across it with your birth year smaller, just below. “And they’re personalized.”

“They’re not all personalized,” you mumble, taking the bear from him and hanging it on the tree.

“Yeah, but a lot of them are. None of ours are.”

“But don’t you know, William, that would kill the aesthetic,” Carmilla replies in an imitation of her mother that is so uncanny, it sends a chill down your spine. “Glass balls and white lights have an air of class,” she continues in the same voice, her expression hard.

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna sneak a rock’n’roll Snoopy on to the tree this year. Ten bucks says she won’t even notice.”

“Maman? The woman notices everything,” Carmilla shoots back, and her voice sounds so tired that you just want to give her a hug and send her back to bed, but she’s leaving and you’re not that close. Not yet. Hugs would be…awkward.

“Well, everything goes for this tree,” you reply, hoping to change the subject.

“Everything?” Carmilla asks, holding up an ornament that you’d made a very long time ago out of popsicle sticks, green and red paint (that mostly blended into a gross brownish color), glue, and a paper doily. You’re pretty sure it was supposed to be a snowflake, but it looks much more like a deformed lump. On the back of one of the popsicle sticks is written your name in barely legible handwriting (with the L facing the wrong way).

“Hey, I made that, thank you very much,” you reply, jutting out your chin and taking the ornament from her. Your fingertips brush as you do so, and you bite your lower lip at the contact.

“No kidding,” Carmilla replies. “Was this last year?”

You shoot her a glare. “I was like five.”

“Well, at least we know why YOU’RE not an art major.”

“Heeey! Harsh,” you pout, hanging the ornament on the tree. “Anyway, yes, everything goes.” You stick your tongue out at Carmilla before returning to the box and picking out Woodstock in a Santa hat.

“What _are_ you majoring in?” Will asks, hanging up a white ceramic imprint of your baby hand.

“Wish I knew,” you reply.

“You don’t have any ideas?”

You try not to feel offended at the surprise in Carmilla’s voice. You shrug. “My public speaking prof said maybe journalism. The media side of that might be cool.”

“Reporter Laura. Sounds perfect,” Carmilla replies.

You frown. “Really?”

“Yep. It would go well with your general inability to sit still and be quiet.” There’s a teasing smirk playing at the corner of her lips, so you make a loud, “humph”, cross your arms, and narrow your eyes at her.

“Play nice, Kitty,” Will says, mock scolding.

Carmilla reaches out and pulls back a tree branch, letting it go so that it whips at his arm. “I’m always nice, Willy-boy.”

You can’t help joining in with Will’s laughter at that, and it’s Carmilla’s turn to cross her arms and look offended.

She rolls her eyes, and sighs and stalks back to the box full of ornaments. “I’m no expert at this, but shouldn’t we put the lights on before we get too many decorations on?”

You pause in the middle of hanging up a felt Santa that your grandma made. “Oh. Yeah.”

Carmilla smirks at you.

“I’ll go see if I can help your dad,” Will offers. He stands then looks puzzled.

“Basement door is off the kitchen,” you reply, with a gesture of your hands.

He nods and smiles and heads off, leaving you alone with Carmilla. She’s still rummaging through the ornaments, even though you should probably stop putting things on the tree for now. You watch as she picks up a rectangular one, and as she lifts it up, squinting at it, you realize which one it is, and your heart rises into your throat.

“This one’s nice,” Carmilla mumbles.

You nod, not trusting your voice not to break.

Carmilla’s eyes drag up from the picture in the small frame to your face, and she offers you a sad smile. She stands and hangs it carefully on the tree, right near the front, and as she lets go it twists towards you so that you can see the picture.

It’s a family portrait, and you’re maybe two, grinning from ear to ear with your short hair pulled into pigtails. You’re sitting in your mom’s lap and her smile matches yours. Your dad stands behind her, beaming, a hand on her shoulder. You’re all wearing matching Christmas sweaters that your grandma had knitted.

You feel your mouth go dry as memories of warm embraces around decorated Christmas trees flood your mind and scents of cinnamon and vanilla that have long since faded overwhelm your nose. It’s not until Carmilla’s hand touches your elbow that you feel the tear slipping down your cheek. You take a deep breath and swallow hard, wiping the tear away and blinking back the ones that threaten to follow it.

“It’s cozy here,” Carmilla says.

You nod. You think you understand what she’s trying to say, without her having to say it. You know that cozy is never a word she’d used to describe her own home.

“So how many more homemade ornaments am I going to be subjected to in that box?” Carmilla asks, the hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” you reply, coming back to yourself and to the present.

“I saw the reindeer face in there. I don’t know that you can really claim that,” Carmilla shoots back.

You nudge her in the side with your elbow and she lets out an honest to goodness laugh. It’s short and she looks a little embarrassed when she stops, but it brings a smile to your face.

You hear someone clearing their throat and when you look up, Will is standing there, holding up a string of Christmas lights, an indecipherable expression on his face, eyes darting between you and Carmilla.

He shakes his head, and you’re fairly certain you hear him mutter, “You guys are weird,” before he steps towards you, saying, “Got one strand untangled. Your dad should be up with the others soon.”

“Let’s get this tree lit up,” Carmilla says, taking the lights out of Will’s hands despite his protests.

He snatches them back from her a moment later, though, when she realizes that he is, in fact, the tallest person in the room by rather a lot.

“Sorry, midgets, I think I need to be the one to start wrapping these around the top.”

Carmilla reaches up and flicks him in the ear eliciting a loud, “Ow” and a glare.

“You know, some people take getting in to the Christmas spirit to mean they should be kind to their fellow man and woman,” you suggest, unable to hide the grin from your face.

Carmilla scrunches up her face. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

\--

The house seems eerily empty after Will and Carmilla reluctantly leave. (And it HAD been reluctantly, but you know it’s just because of what they’ll face at home.)

You close your eyes, and try to let sleep take you, but memories of the day keep running through your brain, and you can’t seem to shut it off.

You know it’s stupid, but you kind of wish that you could simply focus on knowing that Carmilla is on the other side of the wall, again. She’s not, of course. She’s home. She’s home in a place that she doesn’t want to be.

That makes it worse.

If she was somewhere she wanted to be, then maybe you wouldn’t be worrying about her. You _shouldn’t_ be worrying about her. She’s a grown up. She’s more than capable of surviving the holidays with her family.

It’s just that you’d seen the way that she and Will had looked in your home, with your dad giving them egg nog and them helping decorate the tree, and you know that they don’t have that at home. Oh, sure, they’ll have a tree, and they might have egg nog, but there’s none of the warmth and none of the laughter. Not based on the picture Carmilla had painted for you on the drive home, at least.

Maybe if her dad was still…

You stop the thought in its tracks because it’s not even a hop, skip and a leap before it leads to your mom.

You take a deep breath and bury your face in your pillow. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve Day, you remind yourself. It’s the holiday time. A time for joy and presents and cookies and love.

And family.

(It’s why sometimes Christmas hurts the most, even though it’s your favorite time of year.)

\--

“Scoot over, Hollis. You’re taking up too much room.”

“I am the smallest person on this couch,” you protest as LaFontaine wiggles next to you, trying to make more room for themself. “If anything, blame Danny.”

“Hey, I NEED more room. It’s not my fault that I’m tall,” Danny grumbles.

“Okay, what are we watching first?” Perry asks, and you know it’s because she’s trying to avoid the inevitable argument over couch space that happens every year.

“The Grinch,” you reply.

“Okay,” LaFontaine says, “but we’d better get to _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ this year.”

“But that’s more of a Halloween movie!” you complain.

“It literally has Christmas in the title!” LaFontaine argues.

“As long as we watch Elf, it doesn’t matter,” Danny declares, reaching across Perry and LaFontaine to snatch the remote from your grasp.

You start to protest, but then Perry’s offering you a bowl of Hershey’s kisses, and you decide that maybe your hands could be better used unwrapping them than working the remote.

LaFontaine puts their feet up on the coffee table, and you put your feet up on their legs (it’s not your fault that you’re too short to comfortably reach the coffee table), and you settle in for your annual Christmas Eve Day movie marathon with your best friends.

(You text SJ two movies in to share a line you know will make her laugh.)

(You almost don’t think about Carmilla during the movies at all.)

\--

“So where’s broody, mysterious sleepyhead?” LaFontaine asks, shielding the present that they’re tucking under your tree for you with their body so that you couldn’t possibly make out what it is. “Didn’t you want to invite her today?”

You frown. “No. Of course not. This is our tradition.”

(Okay, yes, maybe, a little.)

“Yeah, besides Morticia would have probably sucked all the fun out of the room,” Danny adds.

Your frown deepens. “That’s not true.”

“Haven’t you heard that Laura’s apparently met Carmilla 2.0?” LaFontaine asks.

“I still think it’s weird,” Danny replies, placing a small square package under the tree.

Perry’s tucking an elegantly wrapped package under the far side of the tree and shaking her head. “It’s perfectly reasonable. People do change over time.”

“Yeah! Remember when Laura dyed her hair blonde and made us marathon Veronica Mars over and over? Thank God I introduced her to Doctor Who,” LaFontaine quips.

You shoot a quick glare their way.

Danny rolls her eyes. “That’s different.”

“So, what, people aren’t allowed to change?” you ask, feeling perhaps unreasonably defensive of Carmilla. Still, it’s not like she’s here to defend herself.

“Well, no, obviously they are, I just…Find it hard to imagine that she’s changed that dramatically in so little time.”

“She hasn’t changed that much, but she’s just…” you struggle to find words to describe the hints of the new her that you see. It’s not so much that she’s nicer, but her words don’t exactly hold the same bite and her tone is more playful than cruel. You’re not sure that’ll sway Danny though. “Maybe she was never as bad as we made her out to be,” you suggest instead.

You’re met with three incredulous looks.

“Well, she never questioned calling you LaFontaine or referring to you as they/them,” you point out to LaFontaine.

“Only because she mostly called me one of the ginger twins, and I’m pretty sure I heard her refer to me as Tweedle Dum once.”

Okay, that didn’t exactly help your argument. Damn Carmilla and her tendency to use unflattering nicknames. You shrug helplessly. “Okay, so maybe she’s never been one to win awards for niceness,” you concede.

“I’m not saying she hasn’t changed now, though,” LaFontaine assures you.

“I’d like to see it with my own eyes,” Danny mutters.

“I think, perhaps, in honor of the season, we should give Carmilla the benefit of the doubt. You should invite her to join us some time this break,” Perry invites with a warm smile.

You shoot her an appreciative one back. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

(You want to. You do. It’s just…What if Carmilla 2.0 disappears the more she’s back in old surroundings with people who expect the old version of her?)

“Okay, well, maybe enough about Carmilla. It’s Christmas Eve,” Danny declares. She wraps an arm around your shoulders. “And I’m here with my best friends in the world.”

You grin. It’s true. Here you are. This is important. This feels like home.

(But would it feel more like home if Carmilla were here too?)

\--

You wake up giddy. You never manage to sleep in on Christmas morning. You always feel like a little kid, no matter how old you get. You know there’s no such thing as Santa Claus, but you still feel like there’s magic in the air as you throw on a sweatshirt and pull on your candy cane socks before bounding down the stairs. The Christmas lights are lit and there are more presents under the tree than when you went to bed last night, even though you’d stayed up chatting on the phone with SJ long after your dad had gone to bed.

You’re in the midst of examining the boxes when your dad trudges down the stairs, wearing a Christmas sweater and his worn old slippers. He looks sleepy, but content as he fixes you with a smile and says, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You rush towards him and wrap him in the tightest hug you can and reply with, “Merry Christmas, Dad!”

\--

You’ve always loved giving presents. You’re the type of person who has trouble keeping a really good gift, a gift you’re positive the person will love, a secret. You’ve only learned how not to blab because the looks on people’s faces when they open the gift from you that’s just perfect is so much better in the moment. You love watching their eyes light up and their smiles spread across their faces. You love it with anyone, but even more so with your Dad.

You’re bouncing in your seat in anticipation as he unwraps the hot chocolate and a broad grin spreads across his face. “You’ve spoiled me again,” he says, emotion welling up in his voice.

You haven’t, though. Not really. He deserves even more because he really is the best dad. You spending a little extra money to get him the good hot chocolate that he loves so much but rarely ever splurges for (and that you know he’ll share with you) is the least of what you can do. If anyone is getting spoiled in this arrangement, it’s you and the shiny new laptop that’s booting up on the couch next to you. (You’re definitely going to spend a few hours playing with that this afternoon.)

His eyes light up again at the books and you notice the way that he’s especially interested in the one, proclaiming it one he’s been hoping to read for a while.

The shirt, when he opens it, is not nearly as exciting, you know, but he holds it up proudly and shoots you a genuine smile, and the warm fuzzy feeling that always happens when you give gifts spreads through you.

“Come on, kiddo, you’ve got more presents to open,” he says, pointing to the ones left under the tree.

You bounce off the couch and grab some more eagerly, finding a few more for your dad from extended family members and passing them over.

By the time you’re done opening presents you’re sitting in a pile of wrapping paper and presents, cuddling your new plush owl from SJ in one arm while exploring the features on your new laptop with your free hand. Every once in a while your hand leaves your computer long enough to pop one of the chocolate truffles that Danny got you into your mouth.

You glance down at the plush owl, grinning again at just how much it resembles Hedwig, even though it’s not official Harry Potter merch (unlike the awesome Hufflepuff sweatpants that LaFontaine had gotten you, which match nicely with the scarf Perry gave you – you have a sneaking suspicion that they coordinated their purchases). You love it already. Maybe it’s not cool of you to still love stuffed animals at 18, but you don’t care. Besides, it’s not like you have a person to snuggle at night, so why not have a stuffed animal or two?

You take the Santa hat that your dad had plopped on your head after breakfast and drape it over the small owl, then snap a picture with your phone and send it off to SJ with a, “THANK YOU! I LOVE HER! MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

SJ texts back a picture of a frog in a Santa hat that actually fits it, with a “Ribbit ribbbit! Merry Christmas!” You shake your head and laugh because she’s weird, but she’s so very _her_ and you miss her. You shoot off texts to Natalie, Elsie and Betty, too, before you forget.

Your dad puts down one of the books you’d gotten him (and you notice with satisfaction that he’s marked his place a good thirty pages in already), stands and stretches. “All right, pumpkin, are you going to help me make our Hollis Christmas Dinner, or are you going to be glued to that new computer all day?”

You make a show of having trouble deciding, before turning to your dad with a cheeky grin. “I guess I can help you cook.”

He chuckles as you stand and wraps a warm arm around you, pulling you into a half hug. “Merry Christmas, pumpkin. It’s so nice to have you home.”

You hug him back. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

\--

You’re just polishing off your fifth after-dinner cookie when the doorbell rings. You and your dad turn to each other with matching furrowed brows, and it’s clear that neither of you were expecting anyone.

“I’ll get it,” you offer, your curiosity outweighing your desire to keep shoving cookies in your mouth. You open the door, half expecting Christmas carolers or something (although you only remember those actually coming to your door once and it’s a little late for that), but you’re definitely unprepared to come face to face with a sheepish-looking Carmilla.

“Hey,” Carmilla mumbles, offering a half-smile.

“Hi!” you declare, sounding a little too enthusiastic, even to your own ears.

Her smile turns to a smirk, but then she ducks her head and shuffles her feet.

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen Carmilla Karnstein look this awkward.

“Merry Christmas,” she offers up.

“Merry Christmas,” you echo with a grin.

Her eyes trace up and down your body, taking in your bright red reindeer sweater and the Santa hat on your head. She shakes her head and laughs. “You’re such a dork.” There’s no venom behind the statement. In fact, it almost sounds affectionate. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. To you and your dad.” There’s an awkward pause and then she adds, “For letting me stay here.”

“Who is it?” your dad asks, coming up behind you. “Oh, hello, Carmilla! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” she replies, looking almost shy.

“Do you want to come in?”

She shakes her head a little too quickly. “Oh, no. I couldn’t intrude.”

“Nonsense! Come in! Join us for cookies and egg nog! If you’re really lucky, I might even share some of the hot chocolate Laura got me for Christmas. It’s the best around.”

Carmilla shoots you a questioning look and you nod, hoping that she’ll take that as an invitation to come in from you, too.

She gives a half smile and steps inside, brushing snowflakes from her long, black pea coat, then hesitating, as if unsure if she should bother taking it off, because maybe she won’t be staying too long.

“Here, let me take your coat,” you offer.

She shrugs out of her coat, then, transferring something from hand to hand as she slips her arms out, and that’s when you realize she’s holding something – two brown paper bags, one folded over itself and taped closed, the other shaped around what looks suspiciously like a large bottle.

“What’re those?” you ask.

“Just…thank yous,” she replies, shoving the one package into your hand along with her coat and not making eye contact.

You resist the urge to rip open the package right there, and instead lead her into the living room. Your dad emerges from the kitchen a moment later carrying a refilled plate full of cookies and a fresh glass of eggnog. You settle on the couch, tucking the package in beside you. It feels hard, like a book, you’ve already noted, but you’re not sure what book she could have gotten you.

Carmilla holds up the other bag to your dad. “Thanks. For your hospitality,” she says.

Your dad sets the plate of cookies on the coffee table and you waste no time in snagging one as he steps towards Carmilla and hands her the glass of eggnog before taking the bag. He opens it and pulls out a bottle of expensive scotch. It’s a lot better quality than the one he usually gets, you know, and you see his eyes light up.

“Carmilla, you didn’t have to!” he declares.

She shrugs awkwardly.

You watch in vague amusement as your dad pulls her into a tight hug and her eyes bug out a little, and she pats his arm stiffly.

“I wanted to,” she mumbles, and you swear you can make out the faint hints of a blush on her cheeks, but then your dad lets her go and she turns her face away from you. By the time she’s settled on the couch beside you, her expression is calm and her cheeks are pale.

“Well, now, how was your Christmas?” your dad asks, resuming his spot in his easy chair. “Get anything good?”

“Uh, yeah. Mattie and Will got me some new art supplies,” she replies. “Dinner was tasty.”

You’re not sure your dad notices, but you catch the hint of coldness in her voice and the exclusion of her mother from the list of people who got her good gifts.

“I hope you have room for cookies, though. We have lots to eat this break. In fact, if you don’t help us eat them over the holidays, I’ll be sending you and Laura both back to school with a tin each. We overbaked a little this year, didn’t we, pumpkin?”

“You can never have too many cookies,” you counter.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you believe that,” Carmilla quips before reaching forward and grabbing two off of the plate.

You stick out your tongue at her and you’re rewarded with an amused half-grin as she bites into one of the cookies.

\--

“So, are you going to open that while it’s still actually Christmas, or….?” Carmilla nods to the crudely wrapped package still tucked in your lap as she stands and stretches.

You can tell she’s not so thrilled with the prospect of leaving, and you know part of that is that Mattie left this afternoon. It’s fast approaching midnight, though, and you’ve been yawning more and more frequently. Early mornings and late nights do not go well together, especially when you throw in a day filled with excitement. Your body is ready to crash even if your brain would like to stay up and talk to Carmilla.

It’s been nice having her here in a way that you didn’t expect. Instead of it feeling like someone was imposing on your Christmas traditions, it felt like she fit in them. She even sang a few carols with you and your dad at his insistence, her voice smoother and more emotional than you’d have thought.

You pick nervously at the tape on the paper bag, wishing, now, that you’d picked up the sketch book that you saw at the store. Would it have been so horrible to have something for Carmilla, even if she hadn’t brought you something too? Instead, all you’ve had to offer her is a bag full of cookies to take home and some company on Christmas night. That’s hardly a present.

“I didn’t get you anything,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks flush.

“You got me a place to stay that wasn’t my mother’s house,” Carmilla counters. “Come on, cupcake, there’s no point trying to save the nonexistent wrapping paper.”

You tear the bag open and your eyes go wide in surprise. You think for a second that maybe Carmilla had read your mind because in your lap sits a bound, light brown, leather book. It’s eerily similar to the one you’d been looking at for Carmilla, except that it’s lighter and it has a thin strip of leather wrapped around it and tied to keep it closed. You open it up and see that, where the one you had been looking at for Carmilla had been sketch book paper, the paper filling the one she’d gotten you is lined.

In a loopy scrawl on the first page is written, “Because words are your thing.”

You squint at the words, recognizing that you must be looking at Carmilla’s handwriting, and let your fingers brush over them. “Words are my thing?”

You look up at Carmilla, who is shifting from one foot to the other as she watches you. She shrugs. “Yeah, well, I figured if you had somewhere to write some of them down, maybe you’d say less of them.”

You narrow your eyes at her and stick out your tongue, but you can tell from the glint in her eyes that she doesn’t really mean that.

“I just thought, if you’re going to be a journalist, you should probably get used to writing things down, and you should have something nice to do that in.” Carmilla’s inching towards the door, and you think that perhaps embarrassment is leading her to want to flee even if the only place she has to go is to her mother’s house.

Except, there’s no blush on her cheeks and no discomfort in her body apart from her small steps towards the front door. There’s even a hint of a smirk on her face. Besides, the Carmilla Karnstien you know doesn’t really get embarrassed. (Except maybe around your dad, a little, but parents are a whole other deal anyway.)

You stop your thoughts in their tracks, though, because you realize that you’re not sure if it’s the Carmilla that you know now or the one you thought you knew before that’s influencing your line of thinking.

You stand up and throw your arms around her in a quick hug before you can think it through, and then you pull away like you’ve been burned when your brain catches up to your actions. (Then again, with the way your entire body is suddenly warm and tingly when you step back, perhaps you WERE burned.) “Thanks,” you mumble, aware of the blush that’s creeping up your cheeks. “I mean it.”

Carmilla nods and heads to the door. You follow, watching as she slips her coat back on. She offers you a small smile. “Thanks for having me tonight. And the other night. Thank your dad for me.”

“You’re welcome any time,” you reply, partially because you know it’s what your father would say and partially because you really hope that she’ll come back. “Maybe I’ll see you some time during the rest of break?” You hate just how hopeful your voice sounds, but if Carmilla notices, she doesn’t comment.

She hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She opens the door and steps outside before turning around to face you again. She needs a scarf and a hat, you think as snowflakes drift down onto her hair and in the front door around her on the chilly breeze.

“Merry Christmas, cutie,” she says, and then her lips are being pressed softly to your cheek and your whole face feels like it’s burning.

She pulls away and turns to leave without another word, and she’s halfway down your driveway before you manage to call out, “Merry Christmas! Goodnight!”

(Your cheek is still tingling and your heart is still racing as you climb into bed half an hour later.

The words “best Christmas ever” flit through your mind.)


	6. New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura finishes up the year with old friends and one sort of, maybe friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [bobina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bobina/pseuds/bobina) for betaing this chapter. 
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMY!!!

It almost seems like every other year over the next few days, except for the way that your dad is pushing extra vegetables on you. Your friends monopolize the majority of your time, sometimes invading your living room and taking over your remote, other times you all hang out in Kirsch’s basement. It’s just like Christmas breaks during high school, except you’re not due back in school a few days after the New Year.

That, and you get random texts from Carmilla this year. There’s no regularity to them and she’s hardly keeping up a conversation with you, it’s more periodic updates on things at home.

 ** _Carmilla_** _(3:15 p.m., December 26)_ : _Maman has deigned to let me and Will choose the menu tonight. Do we go for pizza delivery or Chinese takeout? Either way she’s eating grease._

**_Carmilla_ ** _(12:21 a.m., December 27): Will and I are not to order in food ever again. We had Chinese food AND pizza. No regrets._

**_Carmilla_ ** _(11:09 a.m., December 28): Excursion to the hospital so Maman can pretend she’s charitable again. Kill me now._

**_Carmilla_ ** _(5:46 p.m., December 29): Bye bye Christmas tree. Wouldn’t want to start the new year off with any good cheer in the house._

“What’s up?”

You look up sharply to find LaFontaine eying you curiously.

“Hmm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh. It’s just…” You hesitate, unsure if you should bring Carmilla up with Danny only a few feet away, but she’s busy shooting mutant zombies with Kirsch and Will. “…Carmilla.”

LaFontaine raises an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t say anything, clearly waiting for you to elaborate.

“Apparently their tree came down today.”

“Well, Lilita doesn’t waste any time, does she?”

You shake your head.

“And Carmilla just randomly texted you that?”

“…Yes?”

“Anything you’d like to tell me?” LaFontaine prods suspiciously.

“No,” you reply, aware that your face is flushing pink against your will. It’s not even like you’re lying. There’s nothing to tell! Okay, maybe you haven’t exactly mentioned that Carmilla got you a Christmas present (that you have yet to write anything in, despite keeping it by your bed and reading the inscription from Carmilla every night). It’s not like you told LaFontaine about the present from SJ either (and, okay, maybe this is a little different, but still…).

“Right,” LaFontaine says after a long moment of just looking at you, and you can tell they don’t really believe you, but fortunately it seems like they’re not going to push the issue right now.

You glance back at your phone and type out a quick response, just like you have every other time.

**_Laura_ ** _(5:50 p.m.): :( That sucks. You can come visit our tree anytime!_

You send it before you can overthink it. Sure, you had already made the open offer that she could come over any time, and she’d shown no interest in taking you up on it, but it didn’t hurt to say it again, right? It didn’t make you sound overeager. You’re just being a good friend…almost friend…sort of friend? You sigh and tuck your phone back in your pocket, not really expecting a response, since there hadn’t really been any after the update on dinner orders a few nights ago.

LaFontaine is still watching you curiously, and you can tell there are more questions on the tip of their tongue. You’re saved by Perry arriving with a plate full of brownies and your phone vibrating again.

You’re expecting a text from your dad asking about your dinner plans, so you freeze for a moment when you see Carmilla’s name across your phone again. You’re only vaguely aware of the clamor when Danny, Kirsch, and Will hear Perry’s beckon of “Double fudge, chocolate chip brownies.”

**_Carmilla_ ** _(5:52 p.m.): Might have to do that. Do you still have cookies left, or have you eaten them all?_

If she were there, you’d stick your tongue out at her, but she’s not. You settle for narrowing your eyes at your phone as you text her back.

**_Laura_ ** _(5:53 p.m.): I couldn’t have eaten them all! Did you see how many there are? Doesn’t mean I’ll share them with you, though. :P_

The last sentence had been typed after a moment of thought and you second guess it until Carmilla’s reply comes a minute later.

**_Carmilla_ ** _(5:54 p.m.): No need, cupcake. Your dad will share._

**_Laura_ ** _(5:54 p.m.): I hate that you’re right._

**_Carmilla_ ** _(5:55 p.m.): I’m always right._

**_Laura_ ** _(5: 55 p.m.): HA! Good one._

**_Carmilla_ ** _(5:56 p.m.): What’re you up to tonight?_

**_Laura_ ** _(5:57 p.m.): Hanging at Kirsch’s with the usual suspects._

“Laura? Aren’t you going to have any brownies?” Perry asks, sounding mildly concerned.

“Ooh, yeah!” you reply, your attention finally snapping away from your phone to the plate of ooey-gooey, chocolatey goodness being waved under your nose. You eagerly take a brownie and shove half of it in your mouth, and only then do you see the smirk that LaFontaine is shooting in your direction.

You glance around and notice Will studying you with a raised eyebrow so reminiscent of Carmilla, you have to remind yourself they’re not actually related by blood.

You offer him what you hope is an innocent smile as your phone vibrates again.

**_Carmilla_ ** _(6:01 p.m.): Ah, yes. My brother’s there too, right? Enjoy the dimwit squad._

You roll your eyes. It’s as if you can feel her closing herself off via text. You glance around again, and contemplate what is probably a stupid option. You feel the need to check with everyone before you extend the offer. It’s not like she’ll say yes, anyway.

You catch Will’s eye. “Hey, do you think your sister might like to come hang with us?”

“Carmilla?” Danny interrupts. “Why?”

You shrug. “Just thought it might be nice to try to include her,” you mumble, suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes on you. “It’s her Christmas break, too. She might like to hang out with us a bit.”

“Hey, the more the merrier!” Kirsch declares. “I don’t mind if you invite Carmsexy.”

Will punches Kirsch in the arm as you cringe.

“I told you not to call her that, bro! That’s my sister!” Will protests as Kirsch rubs his arm.

You catch sight of Danny out of the corner of your eye and she looks as disgusted as Will at Kirsch’s slip up. You’re not overly thrilled about it, but you push that thought aside.

“Right, right. Sorry. Carmilla,” Kirsch corrects himself.

“I doubt she’d come, but I can ask her, if you want,” Will offers, turning back to you. There’s a slight furrow to his eyebrows that deepens when you respond, “That’s cool, I’ll just text her back.”

He doesn’t say anything besides “Okay,” in reply, though.

“Ugh, do you have to?” Danny asks.

“Come on, Danny. Don’t you think it’s time you put aside your issues with her?” Perry suggests.

“Besides, I want to meet Carmilla 2.0,” LaFontaine chimes in.

“Who?” Will asks, and you can feel your cheeks starting to burn.

“Have you not noticed?” LaFontaine asks Will, shooting you an evil look. “Laura says Carmilla is new and improved since high school.”

Will’s dark eyes turn back to you, his expression unreadable as he shrugs and says, “Oh, yeah, I guess.”

It’s different for him, you know. He’s always gotten a different Carmilla at home away from the rest of you. Maybe they weren’t best friends, but they’d gotten along in their own way. You’d witnessed some of it the other night. (You’d witnessed more of it a very long time ago.)

Still, you stick out your tongue and say, “See??” before texting Carmilla back.

**_Laura_ ** _(6:08 p.m.): Want to join? Think we’re gonna order food in a bit._

**_Carmilla_ ** _(6:10 p.m.): Thanks for the invite, but I think I’ll pass. Not sure I can handle the excitement of your friends AND food all at once._

You roll your eyes at her response and try to quell the rising disappointment in your gut.

“Well?” Danny asks. “Is Elvira coming?”

You roll your eyes again. Whatever Danny’s issue is with Carmilla, you wish she’d work it out already. “She says thanks, but maybe next time,” you lie.

You can just tell that Danny is gearing up for some snarky comeback, and you see the skeptical look Will’s aiming your way, so you’re immensely thankful when LaFontaine grabs your arm, tugging you up and says, “Quick! Grab a brownie and let’s snag the controllers while they’re distracted!”

“Wha-?” Kirsch sputters as the rest of you spring into action.

You, Perry, and LaFontaine dive into the vacated seats and snag the controllers just before Danny and Will can get to them.

“Come on!” they protest, Carmilla forgotten for the moment.

“You snooze, you lose,” LaFontaine declares with a smug look as Perry unpauses the game.

“Come on! Laura, you know this isn’t fair,” Danny tries appealing to you.

You grin and shrug. “Be faster next time.”

When Danny and Will stalk off, grumbling as they go, and Kirsch says, “No worries, dudes! We’ll play more later. Let’s order pizza!” it feels just like old times.

\--

“You be safe tonight.”

“I _will_ , Dad,” you assure him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“I know, I know, you’re a grown up now and you’re surviving college just fine, but you’re still my little girl and I’m always going to worry about you,” your father reminds you.

You smile at him. You know he means the best. “I know, Dad.”

“And no drinking and –“

“Driving,” you finish for him. “Dad, we’re walking!” you remind him.

“Okay, okay,” he relents, and you both turn back to the best of the year countdown on TV. You’re just getting sucked back in to the show, when your dad asks, “Is Carmilla going to be there tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly, leaving out that you kind of hope she will, but assume she won’t. You haven’t heard from her since you invited her to Kirsch’s the other day. You’re trying not to dwell on that fact, though.

“Oh,” he says, and reaches for another cookie from the plate on the coffee table. “It was nice having both you girls here over Christmas,” he adds when he’s finished the cookie.

You nod your agreement, feeling less comfortable with this conversation by the second. He’s building up to something the same way you do sometimes, and you’re not sure you want to know what he’s building to.

You don’t have to wait long to find out.

“You should have her come over again before you head back to school. It’s good to see her in this house again. You two were…I remember when you used to play together like it was yesterday, and I know you drifted apart after…” your dad fades out and you find yourself swallowing back emotions.

It wasn’t just the reasons your dad thinks it was, though.

“We were never that close,” you argue, choosing to focus on that rather than on what your dad left unsaid.

“You were always different, but you were friends,” he counters. “Anyway, it’s nice to see you both putting the past behind you. Tell her to come back around for more cookies, okay?”

You nod. “Okay, Dad.”

He nods, too, apparently satisfied. “Want another mug of hot chocolate?”

You grin and hold out your mug. “Yes, please!”

\--

“No way! Noooo tequila!” You refuse the plastic shot glass offered to you by Kirsch, cringing as you recall an especially bad hangover from last semester, courtesy of that specific beverage.

It had admittedly been a fairly good night, but not worth the two days you’d spent recovering. It’s weird to think that none of the people here with you tonight were there with you for that night. You’re not even sure you relayed the story of the pretty girl and the bottle of tequila to any of them besides Danny over Skype.

You spare a small grin at the memory of the thumbs ups that SJ had sent you across the room. You think about how you’ve never appreciated Natalie more than when she helped you through that hangover. You think that Elsie should really have known better than to hand someone as small as you the bottle of tequila to begin with, although the direction she’d shoved you in after she’d handed it to you really hadn’t been bad at all. Definitely a fun night.

The scent of tequila hits your nostrils and you feel a small wave of nausea pass over you.

“You sure?” Kirsch asks, still waving the shot glass beneath your nose.

You nod firmly, taking a step back. No tequila for you tonight.

Kirsch shrugs and downs it himself before strolling off to find some more alcohol as LaFontaine appears beside you, throwing their arm casually over your shoulder while handing you a red plastic cup filled with a dubious blue liquid.

You give it a sniff and grimace at the overwhelming smell of alcohol. “What is this?”

“Smurf piss,” LaFontaine informs you with a grin.

You glance into their cup and see they have the same drink. “What’s in it?” you inquire.

“Just drink it. It’s good,” LaFontaine encourages.

You wonder if maybe you’ll hit a point in your life when you’ll refuse drinks when you don’t know what is in them, but for now you figure “what the hell?”. You take a sip, and it’s definitely alcoholic, but it’s sweet, too. It’s drinkable.

You’re halfway done with your cup when Will’s tapping you on the shoulder. “Hey, Hollis!” he greets with a grin, pulling you into a quick hug. “Look who I dragged along.”

You tell yourself your breath doesn’t catch in your throat and your heart doesn’t skip a beat when you look over Will’s shoulder and see a familiar smirking face. A perfectly shaped eyebrow raises as you step out of Will’s embrace and towards Carmilla without thinking it through.

It’s the alcohol, you tell yourself when you pull her in for a quick hug. She pats you on the back, and when you pull away, a blush coloring your cheeks, she shoots you a smirk that you can only call “friendly”.

“Fancy seeing you here, cupcake,” Carmilla says.

“At a party that your brother dragged you to?”

Will rolls his eyes. “I told her you were gonna be here.”

You look back at Carmilla, who shrugs. “That was kind of the selling factor. At least I knew there would be one person I wouldn’t hate talking to all night.”

Your mouth falls open and you gape at her until LaFontaine, who had gone off to get themself a second drink, reappears at your side and gives you a nudge with their elbow.

“You catching flies there, Hollis?”

You shoot them a glare and they grin at you before turning to Carmilla.

“Hey, Carmilla! How was your first semester at college?” they ask with a small nod in Carmilla’s direction.

Carmilla shrugs. “Busy and college-like?”

“Ah, yeah, that sounds about right.”

You frown. You can’t tell if Carmilla is regressing into her high school-self or not. You glance at LaFontaine, but they’re not looking your way and they’re grinning slightly, so you think maybe they’re catching a glimpse of the new Carmilla you’ve mentioned.

When Carmilla settles in next to you, peering dubiously into your drink, you feel like maybe her going home hadn’t done as much damage as you’d feared. High school Carmilla would never have hung out with you at a party.

“Smurf piss,” you inform her.

“Sounds delightful,” she replies.

You hold the cup out to her in a silent offer to taste, and she eyes you with a raised eyebrow and a curious look that you can’t quite place before shrugging and taking the cup from you.

You tell yourself that your fingers aren’t left tingling when hers brush against them as she takes the cup. You tell yourself this isn’t a sort of intimate, germ-sharing, definite friend territory thing as she takes a sip and makes a face.

She hands you back the cup. “That is revoltingly sweet!” she declares, eagerly taking the beer that Will hands her when he returns and taking a long swig. “How do you drink that?”

You shrug, ignoring the way Will’s eyes sweep from his sister to you and back.

“Then again, it’s you. I shouldn’t be surprised you can stomach that.”

You stick out your tongue at her, but devolve into giggles when she turns to Will and stage whispers, “Crazy sweet tooth.”

Will squints at her for a moment, then chuckles. “Trust me, I know.”

You stick out your tongue at Will now and elbow Carmilla in the side. Will sticks his tongue back out at you and Carmilla smirks at you.

You make the mistake of meeting LaFontaine’s eye a moment later and they very strongly resemble the Cheshire cat. You know what they’re thinking. Or you think you do. They’re wrong. This is just Carmilla 2.0 being friendly. You’re becoming friends. That’s all there is to it.

You glance at Carmilla out of the corner of your eye, feeling the blush already creeping up your cheeks. Friends, you tell yourself. It sounds nice.

\--

Carmilla and Danny are like oil and water. They don’t mix. Still.

You’d hoped that time away from each other and the growth that they’ve had the first semester of college might change their relationship, but whatever was going on between them through high school is still very much present. You and Kirsch, and to a lesser degree your other friends, therefore spend any part of the night where all of you are hanging out together running interference. In the end, you find yourself relieved when you splinter into smaller groups closer to midnight.

“The snark is strong with those two,” LaFontaine mutters.

“No kidding. Any idea what their deal is?” you ask.

LaFontaine frowns. “YOU don’t know? I thought if anyone would, it would be you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Danny’s best friend? Carmilla’s new best bud? I just assumed one of them would have told you.”

“I’m not – Carmilla’s not my best bud, we’re just…sort of, maybe friends.”

LaFontaine smirks at you. “Sort of, maybe friends, huh?”

“Yeah,” you reply weakly. You take a long sip of your third cup of smurf piss (and they’d definitely made another batch by now because this one tastes substantially more of vodka and substantially less of Kool Aid and sugar) to try to cover the blush creeping up your face.

“And no crushes?” LaFontaine prods.

“None,” you confirm.

“Okay,” LaFontaine says in a way that lets you know that they don’t believe you for a second.

You narrow your eyes at them and pout.

“I get it, for what it’s worth. What you mean about the new her,” LaFontaine adds a moment later and Perry joins the two of you, handing LaFontaine a bottle of water. She always was the mother of the group, and you know you can rely on her to make sure you all stay properly hydrated with things that AREN’T alcohol. It’s not that she doesn’t drink or have fun, but she looks out for you, too.

“Yeah. She’s changed. Not drastically. She’s still a sarcastic asshole —“

Your eyes go wide because if Perry’s swearing, then she’s definitely buzzed. No wonder she went to fetch water already.

“–But she’s…nicer about it, I guess?”

“Funnier. She’s funnier. I don’t remember her being funny in high school,” LaFontaine decides.

“Yeah, but how much did any of us give her a chance to be funny in high school?” you point out, remembering a little girl long ago who made you laugh. You glance over to where Carmilla is standing with Will and a girl you remember from the swim team in high school.

She catches you looking and flashes a quick smile that sets off another blush in your cheeks. You’re about to look away, but then you catch the way the girl from the swim team… Alex, you think, maybe… is leaning in a little closer to Carmilla and Will is rolling his eyes. The scene holds your attention and you feel suddenly a touch nauseous.

Maybe it’s the booze, you think. You’re definitely feeling a bit of a buzz going. Maybe you should go get yourself some water.

“Fair,” LaFontaine is saying, but you’re not really paying attention to the conversation anymore because Maybe-Alex is brushing her fingers down Carmilla’s arm, and Carmilla’s raising an eyebrow at her, but not in the way that indicates she’s annoyed, more in an almost enticing way.

You swallow hard and wonder why your mouth feels suddenly dry.

Before you’re consciously aware of what you’re doing, your legs are taking you across the room towards Carmilla, Will, and Maybe-Alex.

“Hey,” you murmur, realizing far too late what a stupid idea this is.

Carmilla’s smile is genuine when she turns to you. “Hey, cupcake. How’s the smurf piss treating you?”

 _It’s making me do stupid things,_ you want to say, but instead you reply, “Okay,” with a shrug and an awkward smile. (You tell yourself that you don’t feel a little bit smug when Maybe Alex frowns at your nickname and Carmilla’s reaction to you.)

“Laura, you remember Allie, from high school, right? She was on the swim team,” Will provides the introduction.

Allie…Alex…you were close. You offer a forced smile and a, “Hey! Good to see you again.”

It’s a lie and she doesn’t bother returning the sentiment.

“I’m going to go get another drink,” she declares, then she turns to Carmilla and bats her lashes. “Can I get you anything?”

The words drip with suggestiveness and you resist the urge to gag at how obvious she’s being, but then Carmilla’s shaking her head, holding up her half-full beer and saying, “Thanks, I’m good.”

Allie frowns and stalks off without another word.

“You know she was hitting on you, right?” you blurt before you can think better of it.

Carmilla smirks and raises an eyebrow at you. “Believe it or not, not the first time that’s happened to me.”

“No, I wasn’t implying that —“ you begin quickly, feeling like you’ve really stuck your foot in your mouth this time, but she just laughs and shakes her head.

“Relax, cutie. Yes, I know she was hitting on me. I prefer girls who believe in a little bit of subtlety, though.”

You glance at Will and once again his eyes are darting between you and Carmilla. A smirk is on his lips and he looks so like his sister in that moment that you can’t help wondering if maybe they are blood related after all, somewhere back down their lineage.

Carmilla catches his eye and his expression grows smug. She glares.

“What?” she demands.

He shakes his head and shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Don’t you have other people to bother?” she suggests.

“Nope,” he replies with a grin.

She rolls her eyes, then snatches his beer out of his hands and chugs it. “Oops. Looks like you need a drink, there, Willyboy.” She hands the empty bottle back to him.

“Hey!” he protests. “You suck, Kitty.”

“What’s family for?” she asks.

He sighs and wonders off, but not before shooting you a curious look.

“I love him, but sometimes I want to strangle him. That’s a normal thing, right?” Carmilla murmurs, watching her brother leave.

“I don’t have a sibling, but I believe that’s not entirely uncommon,” you reply carefully, a little thrown by the outright declaration of love out of Carmilla. It seems a little overly affectionate from her, even directed at her brother.

“Ah, well, lucky you,” Carmilla says, turning back to you with a grin. “So, scale of one to ten, ten being beyond wasted and one being not even buzzed yet, where do you fall?”

“Maybe a three?” you say. “You?”

“A solid two and a half.”

You laugh and shake your head.

“I’m pretty sure that means we should both drink up,” Carmilla declares, tapping her beer bottle against your cup before taking a long swig.

You follow suit, your eyes never leaving Carmilla as you sip on your drink. She makes drinking beer look good, your treacherous brain thinks. She’s all fine lines and smooth movements and her hair is falling so invitingly around her face that you’re having to stop yourself from reaching out to run your fingers through it.

Her outfit is not helping your line of thought, really. Black leather pants and a lacy top that leaves an inviting strip of pale skin visible across her midriff.

You close your eyes before Carmilla can catch you staring and question you on it.

“So you doing the whole New Year’s resolution thing?” Carmilla asks.

You nod. “I’m going to be more on top of school work next semester. No more procrastinating until I’m beyond stressed to start projects and papers.”

“Good plan,” she replies.

“What about you?”

She shakes her head. “Why make a resolution once a year to break it a week later?”

“It’s a new year! A chance to start fresh! There’s nothing you’d like to try doing differently?”

She tilts her head to the side and looks at you for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe there are some things, but I don’t need to resolve to do them. You either do things or you don’t.”

“I guess,” you reply, unconvinced. “So how’re things with your mom?”

“Oh, just peachy,” Carmilla says, her voice bitter. “I’m apparently not in a real major, I’m not projecting a positive enough image out into the world, and it’s my fault that Mattie didn’t stay longer for Christmas.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! First of all, art is a real major! You worked your ass off this semester! And Mattie not staying because of you? That’s downright absurd! If she was going to stay longer, it would be because of you, but leaving so quickly? That’s all on your mom!” you declare, feeling anger bubbling up inside of you.

Carmilla studies you for a long moment, and you start to worry that maybe you’ve overstepped your boundaries by pinning things on her mom, but then she’s cracking a grin. “Thanks, cupcake. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.”

You want to tell her you’ve always been in her corner, but you’re not sure that’s true, so you just nod instead.

“Well, hey, my mother is hardly a good conversation topic for a party. Shouldn’t we be laughing about stupid things, doing kegstands, and looking to hook up or something?”

Your breath catches at her final suggestion, and your eyes go wide, but you know she didn’t mean that you should be looking to hook up with each other. She just meant in general. She wasn’t even outright suggesting that you’d be doing that, just that it was what people do at parties.

Her gaze on you feels heavy and you can feel the heat in your cheeks indicating yet another blush. “I was kidding,” she says after a long moment, and you realize that you should probably have managed a laugh or a reply of some sort.

“Ha, yeah. You’re right. Your mom is not a good conversation topic for a party,” you respond far too late.

Carmilla gives you a funny look, then throws an arm around you and looks down into your almost empty cup. “Okay, first of all, I think you’re more at a five than a three, there, cutie. Secondly, you need a refill. Come on.”

You let her warm arm guide you towards the kitchen, trying not to think about the way that her hip occasionally brushes yours as you walk, or about how this is the most extended physical contact you’ve had with her in years.

(You tell yourself it does not have a noticeable physical effect on you.)

“Whatever, Miss Declaring-her-love-for-her-brother! If either of us is at a five, it’s you.”

Carmilla considers this for a moment. “Okay, it’s possible I’m at a four,” she concedes. “Good thing I have you around to make me feel more sober,” she adds with a wink.

\--                                            

You bounce around from friend group to friend group, catching up with people you haven’t talked to since graduation, but as midnight draws near, you find yourself back at Carmilla’s side. You never thought, at the start of this year, that you’d end up standing next to Carmilla Karnstein come the end of it.

You’re well and truly buzzed now, which makes your contemplations about what to do at midnight a little foggy. It doesn’t help that you’re also trying to listen to Carmilla recounting a frat party that Ell (who you still haven’t worked out exactly who she is, but you haven’t wanted to ask either) had dragged her to last semester, and your multi-tasking ability goes down in direct relation to your intoxication level going up.

Normally come midnight you hug your friends and kiss them on the cheek and shout “Happy New Year!” a lot, but most of your friends are across the room, and given the tension between Danny and Carmilla, you don’t really want to suggest that you join them. You also don’t want to abandon Carmilla, though.

It’s just…

What do you do at midnight? Do you hug her? You hugged her when she arrived and it was at least half-awkward, but that was quite a few drinks ago for both of you, so maybe a hug now wouldn’t be so weird. Or you could kiss her…

On the cheek, of course. Obviously. Just on the cheek.

Or would that be weird?

No. She kissed you on the cheek at Christmas. If she’s already kissed you, it won’t be weird if you kiss her. It’ll just be, like, returning the favor, right? Evening things up. Making sure she doesn’t feel awkward being the only one bestowing kisses.

(So why are there butterflies in your stomach, then?)

Okay, game plan: a quick hug, a peck on the cheek, and a drunken shout of “Happy New Year!” Simple, easy, straight-forward, and friendly.

Not weird.

Carmilla’s story ends right around the time that the one minute until midnight mark hits and you can’t help the sense of building anticipation as she shoots you a small grin and says, “Well, this is it. The new year is inbound. Ready to face it?”

You’re not at all sure that you are. You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to face the next sixty seconds, if you’re honest, but you nod anyway. “You?”

She shrugs. “Hey, at least I’ve got good company to usher it in.”

Oh. She means you.                                                

“TEN!” the people around you shout.

Carmilla cringes, but chimes in with, “NINE!”

Where did the minute go? Was it quicker than normal?

“EIGHT!” everyone counts down.

Carmilla eyes you expectantly.

“SEVEN!” you manage to join in.

Hug, peck on the cheek, Happy New Year.

“SIX!”

No big deal.

“FIVE!”

You don’t have a crush on her anymore.

“FOUR!”

You’re just starting out the new year with her.

“THREE!”

A fresh start.

“TWO!”

The two of you as actual friends, maybe, finally.

“ONE!”

Just friends.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

You push up onto the balls of your feet, a little unsteadily and start to wrap your arms around her neck for a quick hug, bringing your face in close to hers to press your lips to her cheek, except…

Except she turns as you move and your lips don’t find her cheek at all.

They find her lips. Your lips are pressed firmly to Carmilla Karnstein’s lips.

You forget to pull back quickly. You forget to breathe.

Your entire body is suddenly tingling and your heart is racing and your palms are sweaty and Carmilla’s lips are touching yours.

 _God, they’re soft_ , you think, leaning into the kiss. Soft and inviting and…not moving against yours. In fact, Carmilla’s entire body is oddly still, though one of her hands finds your waist and it’s so warm against your skin you think it must be scorching you.

You open your eyes, pulling back slowly, carefully, unsure of exactly what just happened, and Carmilla’s eyes flutter open as you do so.

There’s a flash of an expression that you can’t read on her face that passes so quickly that you’re not entirely sure you didn’t hallucinate it before she’s smirking at you with a raised eyebrow.

People are pulling out those little confetti noise makers and all around you there is a bustle of movement and cheering, but all you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ears and the sound of your breath coming out shakily and all you can see is Carmilla.

Her tongue darts out and runs along her bottom lip. A lip that your lips had just been touching.

_Oh my God!_

“Well, Happy New Year to you, too, cutie!” she says, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Your mouth has gone dry and you’re vaguely aware that you’re opening and closing it mutely, failing to find any words at all.

“I was just going for the cheek and then —“ you start, but then Kirsch is barreling into you and picking you up and twirling you around in a bear hug, and you have a panicked thought that some of your friends might have seen the kiss.  If they did, you’ll never hear the end of it, you’re sure.

You lose sight of Carmilla as everyone crowds around, everyone taking their turn wishing you a happy New Year with a warm embrace. It’s not until Perry’s hugging you tightly that you catch Carmilla and Danny awkwardly shaking hands and wishing each other a happy New Year.

Nobody has mentioned anything or given you any strange looks, so you think it’s pretty safe to assume that nobody actually saw the most mortifying (and simultaneously amazing) moment of your life. You’re relaxing as Perry lets you go and LaFontaine is saying, “Happy New Year!” and lifting you just barely off the ground. You see Will lifting a protesting Carmilla clear off her feet, though she’s laughing a little, and you’re just about to laugh, too, when LaFontaine puts you down and whispers, “Enjoy kissing Karnstein?” in your ear.

Your eyes go wide and your mouth scrambles to put together words that your tongue can’t find, resulting in incoherent stammering, but LaFontaine just shoots you a wink and moves on.

Your eyes meet Carmilla’s a moment later and she smirks at you.

It’s probably not a good sign that you’d very much like to start the new year banging your head against a wall.

\--

It is entirely possible….probable, even…that you are now on the drunker end of the spectrum. “I think I might be at like a seven,” you mumble, only to have LaFontaine shoot you a questioning look. “On the scale,” you attempt to explain.

They pat you delicately on the head and go to get you a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you mumble, chugging it down. You had thought that perhaps if you’d let yourself get a little more intoxicated that you might be able to forget that you had accidentally kissed your long-term crush that you totally no longer have a crush on/tentative friend on the lips at midnight. You have not forgotten. In fact, it continues to consume your thoughts. Especially every time you catch sight of Carmilla.

 _Especially_ every time she shoots you that smirk of hers.

It’s an issue.

“People shouldn’t smirk,” you mumble.

“Okay, little Hollis,” LaFontaine replies, taking your empty water bottle and going to refill it.

“It’s mean,” you explain when they get back.

“Sometimes it’s loving,” LaFontaine counters, and when you look at them, they’re smirking at you.

“You suck,” you grumble.

“But you love me.”

“I do! I love you so much, LaF! And Danny! And Kirsch! And-and Will! And Perry! And-and-and…”

“Carmilla?” LaFontaine suggests smugly.

You narrow your eyes. “You suck.”

“So you said,” LaFontaine replies, still smirking.

You drink your refilled water bottle while you sulk at them. “Why are you soberererer…. hmmm… sobererer…WHY —“ you begin again, “Why are you more sober than me?”

LaFontaine is shaking slightly while they try to repress a laugh. “Perry’s been handing me nothing but water for the past hour.”

“Hmmmm...” You’re not sure that’s okay. LaFontaine should be as drunk as you so that you can converse on more even ground, you’re pretty sure.

“Drink up your water. It’s good for you.”

You remember the half-drunk bottle in your hand and resume drinking.

“Good girl,” LaFontaine says, with another pat on the head.

You glower at them, but finish your bottle and then hand it back to them so they can refill it again. While they’re up, you suddenly realize that you REALLY have to pee (again). You get to your feet and make your way to the bathroom, fairly pleased that you only stumble once on the way (and okay, maybe you also sort of walked into the doorway just a little, but it’s not that bad).

You splash a little cold water on your face, when you’re done, feeling flushed from all of the alcohol in your system. You pat your face dry and take a look in the mirror, feeling marginally more sober. You take in your rosy cheeks and the slightly dazed look in your eyes and then you see your lips, and you remember that Carmilla’s lips had touched them earlier.

You kissed Carmilla. Something you’ve wanted to do for years, and now that you really need to not want to, you have.

“Crap,” you mutter to your reflection as your cheeks grow a bit redder. “You do NOT have feelings for Carmilla. She is your FRIEND. Maybe. Hopefully,” you tell yourself firmly. You take a deep breath, then head out of the bathroom and walk straight into…

…Carmilla.

Of course, it would be Carmilla.

“C-Carmilla!”

“Hey, cupcake,” she replies. “Going in for another kiss?”

“No! I wasn’t– The first time I wasn’t even– It was supposed to be on the cheek and then you moved and then —“

Carmilla chuckles and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Relax, cutie.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” you accuse her.

Her expression turns confused. “On what, exactly?”

“Never mind,” you mumble, sure that your blush is deepening.

“You could use some water. Let me just pee and I’ll get you some.”

You open your mouth to explain that LaFontaine is actually already on that particular task, but she cuts you off by putting her hands on your arms and moving you to stand against the wall.

“Don’t move,” she instructs, and you nod feebly as she disappears into the bathroom.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and lean your head against the wall.

Carmilla Karnstein. God, there was so much history there, but it was…complicated seemed an inadequate word. The idea that something romantic could ever properly develop between you seems laughable. She wouldn’t…and anyway, you shouldn’t.

“Friends,” you mutter to yourself and take another deep breath.

“Who?” Carmilla prompts and your eyes snap open to see that she has emerged from the bathroom.

You freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. “Who what?”

Carmilla narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You said friends. Who’s friends?”

“Ummm…you know, well, I thought, maybe…” You take a deep breath. “Us?” you hazard.

Carmilla grins. “Come on, drunky, let’s get you some water.”

You can’t help noticing that that’s not exactly an answer, but you let her guide you back across the room, where LaFontaine intercepts you and hands you back your bottle of water.

“Oh, good. She’s cut off,” Carmilla informs LaFontaine.

“Oh, yeah! I know. Trust me,” they reply.

You frown. Shouldn’t this be your decision? “Hey, I’ll decide when I’m cut off, thank you very much.”

“Laura, do you WANT to be really hungover tomorrow?” LaFontaine asks.

“No,” you concede.

“So do you really WANT to drink more tonight?” Carmilla asks.

Your frown deepens. “No,” you reply sullenly.

“Water?” Carmilla suggests.

You drink your water watching the way that LaFontaine smirks first at you and then at Carmilla.

“Someone should probably make sure she gets home okay tonight,” LaFontaine says.

“I’m walking that way anyway, and my brother appears to have ditched me in favor of a cute girl he met, so…I’ll do it.”

LaFontaine nods, and you get the sense that they kind of expected that to be the response.

“I can get myself home. There’s bear spray in my jacket!”

“For all the bears wandering around town?” Carmilla asks.

“For, like, any predators,” you explain, waving your hands vaguely as your brain searches for better words. You manage to slosh a little water into your lap.

“That water does more good in your mouth than your lap, cupcake,” Carmilla points out.

You stick your tongue out at her, and then you see LaFontaine smirking even wider and looking from you to Carmilla and back.

“Right, then, Hollis. You seem to be in good hands. You two have fun! Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year!” you call back as they get up and wander away.

\--

Between all the water that Carmilla and LaFontaine made sure you drank and the cold night air on your face, you’re probably only about a five on the drunk scale, headed firmly back to four by the time you and Carmilla start walking home.

Your filter is more in place, but your brain is not cooperating about not continuing to obsess about kissing the very girl who’s walking you home. Not that she’s walking you home in a date kind of way, because obviously it was not a date. It was a party. That you went to with your friends and she went to with her brother. Definitely not a date.

DESPITE THE FACT THAT YOU KISSED HER!

Crap.

“I’ve kissed other friends on New Year’s. It doesn’t mean anything,” you inform her. (Okay, maybe you’re still pretty firmly in five territory.)

Carmilla side-eyes you and lets out a snort of laughter. “I know, cupcake.”

“I’ve kissed Danny!” you point out, remembering another drunken New Year’s when you’d both gone for a cheek kiss and missed horribly and ended up in a fit of giggles afterwards. That had had none of the awkwardness or weird obsessiveness afterwards. Why can’t you get over kissing Carmilla as easily?

“Yeah, but you had a thing for her in sixth grade,” Carmilla argues.

“Did not!” you reply defensively, even though that’s a complete lie.

“So did. Then right around the time you got over it and started dating Mel, she got all piney piney over you.”

“She did not!” She didn’t. You’d have noticed if she had.

“Oh, come on. You MUST have known she liked you. It lasted for years!”

You’re torn between wanting to protest and being surprised that Carmilla had bothered to pay any attention to your love life growing up.

(You don’t want to think about how it was your crush on Carmilla that started before your crush on Danny and got you over it.)

“No way,” you argue.

Carmilla shrugs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart_. The nickname makes your breath catch and your steps falter just for a second, but it’s enough that Carmilla shoots you a worried look and reaches out to grab your arm.

Her hands are warm through your jacket. Or maybe it’s just the fact that she’s touching you again, and you’re not sober enough to handle the fact that that seems to do things to your body whether you want it to or not.

“I’ve kissed LaF, too,” you say after a long pause in the conversation that’s punctuated only by your feet on the pavement.

“Okay, well THAT I believe as platonic, since they’ve had a thing for Perry since like ninth grade.”

You frown. That’s not true. Is it? Sure, they’re virtually attached at the hip, but they’ve been best friends forever. That doesn’t mean there are any romantic feelings. “Do you imagine crushes often?” you ask.

Carmilla shrugs again. “Not my fault you’re unobservant, cutie.” She comes to a stop and turns to face you, and it takes you a second to realize that the reason for this is because you’re outside your house already.

You weren’t that far away, you remind yourself.

Carmilla’s words echo in your head. You’re unobservant? You study her face, hoping against hope that maybe she means something besides you being unobservant about Perry. Maybe she’s trying to tell you something about her. But, no, she’s just looking back at you with a raised eyebrow and the hints of a smirk on her lips.

“You got it from here, or do I need to come in and help you into bed?” she asks, the smirk growing on her face.

You swallow hard and know that you’re blushing for what feels like the umpteenth time that night. It’s clearly not an innuendo. She doesn’t mean anything suggestive with it, but that doesn’t’ stop your ears from hearing it that way anyway. God, can your brain just get out of the gutter, just momentarily?

“I’ve got it. Thanks,” you mumble, wishing the images of Carmilla helping you up into bed and out of your clothes out of your mind.

You see a flash of emotion on Carmilla’s face that you think, just for a second, might have been disappointment, but you know that’s just wishful thinking on your part.

She leans in and presses her lips gently to your cheek, and you feel like your face is burning despite the chill in the air when she moves her lips to your ear and says, “That’s how you kiss someone on the cheek, cutie. Take notes.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, not meaning a word of it.

She pulls back with a chuckle. “Night, Laura,” she murmurs, biting her lower lip.

“Night, Carm,” you reply.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” you echo.

She gives you a little wave, then turns and heads towards her street.

You watch her go for a minute until you realize exactly what you’re doing, and then you head inside.

It’s only once you’ve closed the door behind you that you realize two things.

One, she called you Laura. She almost never calls you Laura.

And two, she didn’t protest when you called her Carm.

That’s…progress. Right? It feels like progress.

(Now if only you could stop thinking about kissing her again, you’d be golden!)


	7. End of Christmas Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Carmilla spend some more time together and Laura gets teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Brit for the beta and sorry about the wait for this chapter. Unfortunately, I'm not apt to update either this or Laundromat at a very rapid pace right now. Hopefully you'll still hang with me, though.

Carmilla keeps in pretty regular contact after New Year’s, and every single time you get a text from her your heart starts to race and your mind replays the kiss. It’s ridiculous. It was barely a kiss. It was just lips on lips. It lasted a matter of seconds. It was nothing.

Except it felt like everything, and that’s a problem. That’s not something you should think about silly little kisses with friends. You should know. You’ve had some, as you’d pointed out to Carmilla when you were drunk. (You’re still kicking yourself a little for that conversation, because now she knows that YOU were still thinking about it hours after it happened. Ugh.)

Two more weeks pass in a blur. Pie dates with Danny, movie marathons with LaFontaine, late night chats with Perry, video games with the whole gang, and now, regular texts from Carmilla.

Actual text conversations. Okay, they’re not long, but they’re something. They’re responses. It’s…friendly. You’re friends now, right? Except she hadn’t confirmed that on New Year’s and you haven’t forgotten. That’s been eating away at you, too, actually.

“So are you ever going to talk about what it was like to kiss Carmilla Karnstein finally?” LaFontaine asks you unexpectedly one night in the middle of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (and Dumbledore’s shouting, flailing reaction to Harry’s name being in the goblet annoys you every time you watch it).

You’d just about forgotten that they knew. Worse: they’d seen the kiss in all of its awkwardness.

“It wasn’t a kiss like that,” you reply, fully aware that your cheeks have flared what is probably an alarming shade of red far too quickly.

“Like what?” LaFontaine asks with a wicked grin on their face, pausing the movie and giving you their full attention.

You glower at them. “It wasn’t the type of kiss that means anything. It was just a stupid, drunken New Year’s kiss.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” LaFontaine replies, looking far too smug.

“What?” you demand, not liking the sarcasm in their response.

“Nothing! I totally believe that! I mean, if I kissed my long-term crush while somewhat intoxicated, it totally wouldn’t mean anything, and I totally wouldn’t overanalyze it for weeks and daydream about it, and play back every second of it over and over in my head.”

You groan because sometimes it sucks having friends that know you so well. “I’m not overanalyzing. There’s nothing to overanalyze. It meant nothing to her.”

“To _her_ ,” LaFontaine echoes with a glint in their eyes.

You groan again.

“What’d it mean to you, though?” LaFontaine prods, poking you in the side. “Hmmm, Hollis? Did it set your heart aflutter? Does she have soft lips? I bet she has soft lips. Do you want to do it again?”

“Sometimes you suck.”

LaFontaine just grins back at you. “Well?”

“No. There was no fluttering. Yes, she has soft lips. No, I don’t want to do it again.” It’s a half-truth at best.

LaFontaine stares at you for a long minute, then says an unconvincing, “Uh-huh.”

“It’s true!” you lie.

“Sure,” they agree in a way that makes it clear that they don’t believe you for a second.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe she has soft lips.”

You do your best to ignore the rush of the memory of those soft lips pressed to yours. “Well, she does.”

“Lips you’d definitely like to kiss again and that DEFINITELY meant something to you.”

“They meant embarrassment and the urge to hide under a pillow,” you retort. That, at least, is not a lie.

“And dream fulfillment for at the very least Middle-School-Laura,” LaFontaine points out. “I suspect, also, Current-Laura.”

You glower at them. “NOT Current-Laura.” _That_ you _want_ to be true.

“Ok,” LaFontaine replies, but they don’t sound convinced.

You’re saved any further defense of yourself by the doorbell. You stand, shooting LaFontaine a vaguely reproachful look, and make your way to the door. You pull it open without thinking about who it might be, and freeze as your eyes go wide.

Carmilla stands before you, a sheepish expression on her face, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and a suitcase at her feet.

“If I stay in that house another day, I may commit murder. She is driving me absolutely up the wall and Will left yesterday, and I can’t…I just can’t stay in that house alone with her. I know it’s a lot to ask, and it’s a complete imposition, but is there _any_ way I can stay with you until we go back to school?”

You glance over at LaFontaine, knowing full well that they’re totally going to take this the wrong way. They’re eying you with a smug look on their face (though there’s a hint of surprise in their eyes) and you sigh before turning back to Carmilla with a smile. “Yeah. Of course! Come on in.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are the best and I owe you big time!” Carmilla declares pulling you into a hug that you’re awkwardly still through because you’re fairly certain that your body goes into shock for a second. A moment later she’s releasing you and stepping inside with a concerned, “Are you sure your dad will be okay with it, though?” thrown over her shoulder.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine with it. He said you were welcome any time!” You look awkwardly between LaFontaine and Carmilla until Carmilla turns and notices them, too.

“Oh. Hey,” she mutters, her demeanor changing slightly. It’s as if short walls just went up around her and she’s peering warily over them.

“Hey,” LaFontaine replies with a grin so wide it’d put the Cheshire cat to shame.

“I didn’t realize– I can go, if you—” Carmilla begins, but you cut her off with a shake of your head.

“No. It’s fine. We’re just hanging out. Why don’t you go drop your stuff in your room and come join us,” you invite, seriously doubting the wisdom of the words as they leave your mouth.

“My room?” Carmilla asks with the hint of a smirk on her lips.

“The guest room,” you correct quickly, feeling your cheeks flush.

“Right.” Carmilla nods, then looks at you for another few seconds, tilting her head to the side slightly. Then she squares her shoulders, shifts her bags, and heads up the stairs. “Be back in a minute.”

“ _Her_ room, huh?” LaFontaine teases as you make your way back over to them.

You glare. “As in the room she’s going to be staying in.”

“Sure. Yeah. Right. Makes sense. Just like how she feels comfortable enough just showing up here and asking to stay. Just like how you’re the person she runs to when she can’t stay at home anymore.”

You hadn’t really thought about those things, and now that you are, it’s setting your heart aflutter. The smug look on LaFontaine’s face means that you can’t take the time to dwell on those thoughts now, though.

“It’s not like that. It’s just because she was here at the start of the break. That’s all.” You’re vaguely aware that you’re trying to convince yourself as much as you’re trying to convince them.

“Uh-huh.” LaFontaine nodded, still looking smug.

Fortunately, you’re rescued from more teasing by Carmilla’s reappearance at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, her reappearance only makes your heart beat a little faster.

“Hey,” she says, standing awkwardly by the stairs.

“Hey,” you reply, fighting the urge to bite your lip. You KNOW LaFontaine will notice and they’ll DEFINITELY read WAY too much into it. “Come sit! Do you want anything to eat or drink or anything?”

Carmilla shakes her head and moves around to the couch. You try not to read into the fact that she sits next to you rather than next to LaFontaine.

“What’re you watching?” Carmilla asks, gesturing to the TV as she leans back and puts her feet up on the coffee table.

“ _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_.”

“Never seen it.”

You and LaFontaine turn to her as one, your jaws hanging open.

“W-what?” you finally manage to stammer.

“You’ve read the books though, right?” LaFontaine demands.

“I read the first one.”

“WHAT?!?” you and LaFontaine cry in unison.

“I suddenly feel like this is a sin or something,” Carmilla says, scooting away from the two of you just a little.

“It pretty much is,” LaFontaine replies, and you can only nod in agreement.

“Yeah, we’re definitely going to have to fix that,” you declare. You ignore the quick look that LaFontaine shoots you. The one that tells you that the way you said that implies far too much. As if you have any actual sway in what Carmilla will or won’t read.

“Can’t I just watch the movies?” Carmilla suggests, gesturing to the one still paused on the TV.

“NO!” you and LaFontaine reply far too emphatically. You shake your head vehemently. “Definitely not.”

“The books are way better.”

“The movies are fun, and we will marathon them when you’ve finished the books.”

LaFontaine shoots you another look, and you swallow hard at the idea that you’re making very definite plans for a very definite future in which Carmilla is very definitely a part of your life.

“But you definitely have to read the books first,” LaFontaine finishes after a pause that lasts just a moment too long.

Carmilla stares at both of you for a minute, then cracks a vaguely amused grin and says, “Ooooookaaaaaay.”

“We’re not crazy,” you feel the need to defend yourself.

“’Course not,” she replies, a smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth.

“We’re not,” you reiterate.

She nods. “Not a bit, I’m sure.”

“Harry Potter is important,” you inform her.

“Well, then, clearly I need to fill that gap in my education.”

You grin and she shoots you a matching one, and then you make the mistake of looking at LaFontaine, whose eyes are darting between you and Carmilla while they grin smugly. You narrow your eyes at them.

“Right, well, actually, I should head out. Perr’s expecting me for dinner soon, but…It was good seeing you again, Carmilla.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Carmilla replies, much to your surprise.

“Have fun,” LaFontaine whispers in your ear before pulling back and wiggling their eyebrows at you.

You glare. “Tell Perr hi.”

“Will do. See ya.”

LaFontaine makes  far too hasty an exit to be anything considered subtle, and you’re left sitting far closer than necessary to Carmilla on the now quite empty couch. You don’t really want to move over, either.

“You wanna watch something?” you offer. It shouldn’t be awkward, right? Not at this point. She’s hung out here before. Recently.

Before you kissed her, your treacherous brain reminds you. Jerk.

Carmilla’s watching you with unreadable eyes and a faint smirk on her lips, and it takes her a moment before she responds with a small shrug. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

Your eyes scan the DVDs on the shelf next to the TV, hoping that something jumps out at you, but you’re barely processing what you see because your brain keeps saying, “Ooooh, movie date!” when you, logically, know that it’s nothing of the sort.

“Have you seen _Doctor Who_?” you ask, jumping to something old and familiar.

Carmilla looks away, and you feel like you’ve said something wrong, though you can’t imagine what it was.

“The old ones. The originals,” she says in a quiet voice that has you furrowing your brows. “Mattie and I watched them with our dad.”

“Oh.” Well, that explains it. You don’t have to ask to know that she hasn’t watched an episode since then. You only have to think of the chapter book that sits on your shelf, bookmark halfway through it, untouched for years because the book was started in your mothers voice, but can never be finished in it.

“I’ve never seen any of the new ones, though. I think, maybe, it might be nice to see some of them.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the thought that she’s willing to delve back into the world of _Doctor Who_ with you, of all people. “You sure?” you ask.

Her eyes meet yours and she offers you a soft smile that seems so unlike the snarky girl you thought you knew in high school that you can almost convince yourself that she’s someone completely different. “Yeah,” she confirms.

“All right,” you say a few too many seconds later, “get ready to meet Christopher Eccleston’s ninth Doctor!”

\--

Despite Carmilla checking about a dozen times, your dad seems thrilled at the prospect of her staying with you again. In fact, you’re pretty sure she got served a bigger portion of turkey at dinner. I mean, you’re happy Carmilla’s here, too, but you ARE still his daughter, and it was really good turkey.

You’ve almost managed to stop thinking about kissing her every time you look at her by the end of dinner, which is really a good thing. It’s a bit inconvenient to have to try to control a blush every time you lay eyes on someone, especially if they’re someone who’s essentially living with you for a few days.

Still, it’s only almost.

The phantom feel of her lips pressed to yours plays on your skin when she touches your arm and offers you a smile before heading to bed, and it’s only a long, hot shower later that has you able to relax into sleep.

(You tell yourself that you can’t still feel the imagined ghosting of her fingers over your skin as you drift off to dreamland.)

\--

It’s weird, and it definitely shouldn’t be the case, you’re sure, but home feels a little bit more like…well, like _home_ with Carmilla there. Two days into Carmilla’s stay and your dad is gently teasing Carmilla, who’s joking right back with him, and you’re left sitting there amazed at how well she just _fits_ into your family.

That shouldn’t be the case, right? It shouldn’t feel like maybe she was always meant to sit at this table with the two of you. It shouldn’t be this _easy_ to fit someone into your life, right?

There has to be a catch.

Well, there is the one. The one where you’re struggling to keep your feelings platonic. The one where the brief kiss you drunkenly planted on her pops into your head at inopportune times, like when you’re watching more _Doctor Who_ on the couch and she scoots a little closer to you and adjusts the blanket so that it’s covering her legs a little better. That’s a bit of a catch. You’ll get over it, though. You will. You’re friends with her. You’re like 90% sure you’re properly friends at this point. It still bothers you that she didn’t actively confirm that on New Year’s, though, and you don’t want to be the biggest dork around and bring it back up.

The day comes when you’re packing up your car to go back to school, and you’re honestly not sure your car can carry the weight of all of the food that your dad is insisting on sending back with you. Except, it’s not just with you. He’s pushing just as much food on Carmilla, and you’re fairly certain she has an extra tin of cookies. Not cool.

“Dad, they do have food at college,” you remind him as he pushes another bag of food into your hands.

“That’s for the road. In case you girls get hungry,” he informs you, before pulling you into a tight, teary embrace.

“I’ll be back for spring break!” you protest, though you hold him just as tightly as he’s holding you.

“I know, I know. And you’re all grown up now, but I’ll miss you all the same.”

You feel tears well up in your own eyes, and you manage a muffled reply of, “I’ll miss you, too,” into his chest.

Carmilla slips past you, coat just brushing your back, and then she’s stopped in her tracks when your dad says, “You, too, young lady. Don’t think you’re escaping without a proper goodbye. Get in here!”

Carmilla is suddenly there hugging your dad with you, one arm awkwardly around you, the other around your dad, her face the picture of surprise as it’s pressed into his chest beside yours, and it’s clear your dad pulled her in before she was ready.

“You’re welcome to join us at spring break, you know,” he tells Carmilla, though you’re sure she’ll have better things to do with her time than come home to spend time with your dad. It’s hardly the stereotypical spring break experience, though you have a hard time imagining Carmilla being into kegstands by the pool in Florida somewhere.

(You instantly regret picturing it. You really, really regret that your brain saw fit to imagine Carmilla in a bikini.)

“Oh, thanks. I’ll think about it,” Carmilla replies.

Your dad finally steps back and lets you both go, but then he pulls each of you in for another hug individually. He reluctantly lets you go with a kiss on the top of your head and teary, “Drive safe. Call when you get there so I know you got there okay.”

“I will,” you assure him.

“Carmilla, you look after my little girl out there in the big wide world.”

Carmilla side-eyes you, and you can feel your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Of course. Someone has to keep her out of trouble.”

You stick your tongue out at her and try not to have feelings about the implication that she might see it as her job to do so.

“And Laura, you watch out for Carmilla, too. You girls take care of each other. The world is a scary place. I know, I know, you’re both adults,” he continues cutting off any protests before they can leave your mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping an eye out for a friend though.”

A friend. Friends. Which you and Carmilla are now. Right? You’re almost sure. Almost. It’s just that she never confirmed it. Why couldn’t she have just confirmed it? Why does your brain obsess over stupid things like this? It doesn’t matter. You’re hanging out. You’re acting like friends. What does it matter if she properly considers you a friend, too?

It’s these thoughts that follow you into the car and weigh down your mind as you start the drive back to campus. Totally not an inconvenient train of thought to have when trapped in a car with the person you’re having them about for a few hours. Still, at least you’re not currently obsessing about the kiss.

\--

You can practically feel Carmilla’s body relax next to you as you drive away from home. The further away you get, the more she talks and the lighter her mood seems.

“And Ell just stared him down. It was hilarious. Guy would not take a hint. Kept trying to get her number and she just looked at him like he was crazy. I don’t know if guys are just naturally that oblivious, or they learn it over time, but, God, I wish I’d thought to record it.”

You chuckle slightly, still trying to work out who exactly this Ell is.

“Okay, cupcake, what’s up?”

“What?” you ask, startled by Carmilla’s sudden change of subject.

“Something’s bugging you. What is it?”

“Nothing!” you lie quickly…and unconvincingly if Carmilla’s skeptical expression is anything to go by.

“Come on. What is it?” Carmilla prods, poking your arm.

You pretend there’s no flush of heat that radiates from where she’s touching you.

“It’s stupid,” you mumble, knowing full well that you’re blushing. Again. It would be really nice if you could control your blush reflex.

“Try me,” she says.

You glance her way again, and her face is nothing if not open and inviting. It _is_ stupid, but you find the words spilling from your mouth anyway. “You never answered on New Year’s.”

Carmilla’s brows furrow. “Answered what?”

Oh, God. Why did you say that? Why are you having this conversation? This is a stupid conversation. Your brain is an idiot. You sigh. “If we’re…you know…”

Carmilla shakes her head. “No, I don’t know.”

You sigh again and mumble, “friends,” feeling your cheeks grow even hotter.

Carmilla lets out a bark of laughter, then attempts to control it, but you couldn’t feel more self-conscious about the current subject if you tried, so her response doesn’t really make that much of a difference. There’s a long pause, then, and you don’t dare risk a glance at Carmilla, but you’re sure it’s just because she’s composing herself and being amazed at your utter dorkiness.

“Yeah, cupcake. We’re friends.”

Her hand pats your arm, lingering for a second, and you’re fairly certain that you stop breathing for a moment.

“Okay, cool,” you squeak, sounding anything _but_ cool. When you finally glance Carmilla’s way again, she’s giving you a small smile that’s halfway between friendly and smirking.

 _Friends_ , you think. Yeah. Okay. You can do that. It sounds…well, it sounds pretty damn nice.

Carmilla Karnstein is your friend.

\--

You decide with about an hour left in your drive that you could listen to Carmilla talk about art forever. You’ve never heard her talk so openly and freely about anything, and it seems like she comes alive when she does, hands gesturing in the air as she tries to articulate thoughts and feelings that you can’t help thinking she’d prefer to draw.

“Artists can convey so much…EMOTION, you know? With the right brush stroke? The right colors? It’s incredible. Art can move people to tears. Art can make people dream. You’ve seen pictures of Van Gogh’s ‘The Starry Night’, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I look at that and I can see whole galaxies in his strokes. The vastness of the universe over the little village that’s so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things and it’s just…incredible, you know?”

You can’t help the grin on your face at her words. She sounds almost energetic, and it’s amazing. This is nothing like the unfazed, sarcastic girl you knew in high school. This isn’t even the somewhat reserved, snarky Carmilla 2.0 that you got to know over Christmas. This is a whole new Carmilla. This is a Carmilla who’s found her passion, and you can’t help envy her for that.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, keeping your eyes firmly on the road.

She pokes you in the side and you squeak and jerk the wheel just a little before regaining control. “Don’t you know it’s a bad idea to tickle the driver?”

“Didn’t realize you were quite that ticklish, cupcake.”

You shoot her a quick glare. “Don’t you dare.”

“Well, not while you’re driving. I don’t have a death wish.”

“No tickling,” you warn her.

You glance her way and she’s grinning. It’s not a grin that puts you at ease.

“No!”

She holds up her hand. “I am innocent.”

“I don’t believe you. I can see the wheels turning in your head.”

“Maybe you should be seeing what’s on the road in front of us instead.”

“Do _you_ want to drive?” you retort.

She chuckles. “I can next time we head home, if you want.”

 _We_. _Next time._ As in the two of you. Together. She’s planning on future road trips. For both of you. Together. You and your friend, Carmilla Karnstein on the road together.

Yeah. Okay.

This has been a perfectly normal holiday.

\--

“LAURA!!!!”

You’re tackled in a bear hug before you’re properly through your door and your backpack falls from your shoulder where it had been precariously perched and lands squarely on your foot. “Ouch!” you mumble into SJ’s shoulder as Elsie and Natalie join in the hug.

“I MISSED YOU!!!! Don’t make me go home to my family again soon. Please?” SJ pleads.

You’re laughing and ducking out of the embrace to properly set your stuff down, only to have Betty catch you in another hug.

“Welcome back. These losers just showed up and I couldn’t get rid of them.”

“You welcomed us with open arms!” Elsie contradicts.

“You love us,” SJ adds.

You untangle yourself from Betty and are finally able to drop your stuff by your bed and sink into it. SJ bounces down onto it beside you.

“So, how was your break?”

“SJ, I literally texted you yesterday. You _know_ how my break was.”

“Mhm, yes, true, BUT…I haven’t gotten to hear properly how your time with Carmilla was.”

“Sorry, Carmilla?” Elsie asks, joining you and SJ on your bed while Natalie joins Betty on hers.

“Who is Carmilla?” Natalie inquires.

“Just a friend,” you say, giving SJ a pointed look.

SJ doesn’t look convinced. “Yep. A really hot friend who was passed out in your bed last time I saw her.”

Elsie sits back and looks impressed. “Wow, Hollis! Way to go!”

It takes you a second to reach the conclusion she’s jumped to, but when you do, your cheeks flush bright red and VERY inappropriate images run through your head. You do your best to push them away as you protest, “No! No. Nothing like that! She was just tired after exams.”

Elsie looks a little disappointed, but Natalie’s still clearly curious and Betty and SJ are watching you expectantly.

“Well?” Natalie prompts after a moment when you don’t automatically continue.

You take a deep breath, then begin. “She’s just a friend —”

“Very hot friend,” SJ interjects.

“Very,” Betty agrees and you shoot both of them a glare.

“–from home,” you finish.

“That we’ve never heard of?” Natalie inquires.

Why do they all have to point that out? It’s really not your fault you didn’t know that Carmilla went to your school until just before Thanksgiving. Okay, sure, it’s not like you ever asked her where she was going, but she had never asked you either. You weren’t properly friends then. You are now. Friends who need to not imagine wearing each other out in your bed without clothes on. Those are definitely thoughts that need to go away and leave you alone, like, NOW.

You sigh. “I didn’t realize she even went here until soon before Christmas.”

“So you’re close friends, then,” Elsie says sarcastically, and you feel like you’ve had this conversation too many times before.

“We just never communicated about that,” you reply defensively.

“Yes, yes, I know this part,” SJ interrupts. “What I want to know is how things went once you were home? Did you hang out every day? Are you the bestest of friends now? Are you dating yet?”

“We’re NOT dating!”

“Oooh, that response was a little quick, don’t you think?” Betty says, and SJ nods with a wicked glint in her eye.

“Definitely too quick,” SJ agrees.

You groan and flop back on your bed. “We’re not. We are friends, though. She hung out some, but it wasn’t like I saw her every day of break or anything. Mostly at the start and the end when she was —”

You realize what you’re about to say and you just KNOW that your friends are going to interpret it the wrong way, so you cut yourself off.

“When she was…?” Natalie prompts, and when you look up, everyone is leaning in interestedly towards you.

“Staying with me,” you finish in a resigned tone.

“Oh, so she went home with you, to a place where she has a home of her own, but she stayed with you for part of break? Yeah, that’s totally just friends behavior,” Elsie says suspiciously.

“Well, come on, I definitely crash at friends’ houses over break from time to time. You hang out, it gets late, you’re lazy. That’s not THAT big of a deal,” SJ comes to your defense.

“THANK you,” you declare.

“I mean, maybe if you have a crush on the friend it’s a little different,” she adds with a smirk.

You let out another groan. “For the millionth time: I do NOT have a crush on her!”

“Mhm, and maybe by the ten millionth time, I’ll believe it,” SJ retorts.

“You suck,” you mutter. “You all suck.”

“Yeah, but you missed us!” SJ replies, flopping back on the bed beside you and throwing her arm around you.

You wrap your arm around her and give her a quick squeeze. “I did.”

“Do you miss Carmilla now?” Natalie asks.

“No. I just saw her!”

“Another quick answer,” Betty points out.

“Never mind. I take it back. I didn’t miss any of you. At all,” you inform them, sticking out your tongue.

“Yeah right,” SJ mutters, elbowing you in the ribs, and you giggle.

“Okay, so tell us more about this Carmilla,” Elsie prods, poking you in the leg.

You sigh again, but find yourself elaborating on her anyway. You keep it as basic as you can and you DEFINITELY don’t mention the accidental New Year’s kiss.

You also keep it to yourself the way your skin is still tingling because she pulled you into a tight hug when you said goodbye earlier. Or that your cheek still feels warm where her lips grazed against it in a goodbye kiss.

You don’t tell any of them later when your heart starts to race when you get a text from Carmilla with a picture of her and a tall, attractive blonde girl. Carmilla is rolling her eyes and the blonde is raising an eyebrow and smirking. The text says, “So my pushy roommate wants to meet you. Dinner later this week?”

It’s not a date. It’s friendly. It’s friends introducing themselves to other friends. You could bring the girls…No, that would probably be a little overwhelming. Maybe just start with one of them. SJ maybe. Does that make it seem like you think it’s a double date? No. It’s friends. That’ll be fine.

You grin into the darkness of the room and tell yourself you’re not unreasonably excited to get to see Carmilla again so soon.


	8. Definitely Not a Double Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and SJ go to dinner with Carmilla and Ell. It's not a date, but Laura's good at stressing out anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty fluffy. I think most of you could use that right about now. Thanks to Amy for the beta.

You shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s Carmilla. Carmilla, who you saw all break. Carmilla, who you’ve known practically your whole life. Carmilla, who SJ hasn’t properly met and who is bringing a ridiculously attractive roommate to dinner.

Yeah, sure, no pressure.

You look in the mirror again and sigh, peeling off your shirt and adding it to the ever-growing pile on your bed.

“If you change one more time, I’m going to throw this book at you,” Betty mumbles from where she’s buried in a textbook at her desk.

“I just want to –”

“Look hot for the girl you totally don’t have a crush on?” Betty cuts, looking up with a smirk before returning her focus to her textbook.

You narrow your eyes at her, but you know she has a point.

“You know, if I didn’t have this test tomorrow, I’d be a little offended you didn’t ask me along to meet her. She’s bringing her roommate, after all,” Betty says.

You peer over the top of the new shirt you’re tugging on, only to find that she hadn’t even looked up from her book this time, and doesn’t look remotely offended.

“One friend at a time is plenty for her to meet. All of you at once would scare anyone away,” you retort, sticking out your tongue, even though she’s not looking.

Betty shoots you a glare and turns back to her textbook. “I am _way_ less likely to scare someone off than SJ.”

She might have a point there, too, but SJ gets you in a way that none of the others do. She may be the goofiest of the lot of you, and she may speak before she thinks a little more often, but she reads you in a way that nobody else that hasn’t known you for years does. You’re just crossing your fingers that she doesn’t bring up anything about crushes.

“You can meet her soon. Anyway, she’s just a friend. She’ll be around.”

Betty gives you a skeptical look. “Mhm,” is her only reply as she once again buries her nose in her studies.

\--

The hug is unexpected, but not unwelcome. In fact, you might be okay if it never ends, except it does, all-too-quickly, leaving you with the lingering scent of chocolate and rain and something that reminds you of home. She shakes out her wet hair with a laugh that sounds so much freer than anything you associate with her, and scrunches up her face as she looks at you.

“I got you all wet. Sorry.”

You’re sure she doesn’t mean it to be a double entendre, but you can’t stop your cheeks from turning what you know must be a glaring shade of red. You brush the drops of water off your shirt with a mumbled, “Don’t worry about it,” and do your best to ignore the smirk that SJ is giving you.

“So _this_ is Ell,” Carmilla says, and for the first time you properly take in the tall (okay, everyone is tall compared to you, but still), leggy blonde that’s standing just behind her.

Stunning is a bit of an understatement, you realize in a glance, with her sparkling green eyes, her sculpted jawline, and her figure that somehow manages to be both slim and curvy in a way that you’re pretty sure should not be possible. She’s the type of person you want to hate on sight, and your stomach twists uncomfortably at the easy way Carmilla’s hand touches her side and nudges her forward.

Ell. The name rings familiarly in your head, and now you have a face to go with it. A really gorgeous face. How did she make her eyeliner look so flawless? How does she make her long hair do that sexy, windswept, “I just stepped out of the pages of a magazine” thing? You’re jealous of her and you’ve only just met. Not an overly promising start to the night.

“Ell, this is Laura,” Carmilla says, gesturing to you.

“Laura, I’ve heard so much about you!” she says, her voice warm and enthusiastic. She’s enveloping you in a warm hug in a matter of seconds, and, dammit, she even smells good. “I’m so glad Miss Snark over there decided I was allowed to meet you.” Ell nods over her shoulder at Carmilla, and your eyes fall on her, only to notice that she seems to be looking at the ceiling with a bizarre intensity.

You glance up in case there are spiders scurrying across it, but it’s boring and white.

“Sorry, the delay was half my fault. My Media Writing prof takes the writing part really seriously. We have a paper due every week, no exceptions, plus two major reports and a final project. Honestly, I’m not sure some professors understand that we take more than one class per semester.” You’re rambling. You know you’re rambling, and yet somehow you can’t make yourself stop. It’s only SJ’s elbow in your side that makes you falter, and then you remember that you a) haven’t even said hello yet, and b) you haven’t introduced SJ. “Um, anyway, nice to meet you,” you lie.

If Ell notices the insincerity in your voice, she doesn’t show it. “You too!” she replies in a voice so sweet you can practically see the honey dripping from it. She can’t be being genuine, and yet you see no trace of that on her face.

SJ clears her throat none-too-subtly.

“Oh, right, sorry. This is SJ.”

“Sound more enthusiastic about me, why don’t you,” SJ mutters before beaming at Ell and Carmilla and extending a hand that Ell takes first. “That’s me! SJ! Best friend extraordinaire!”

Carmilla raises an eyebrow at you as she takes SJ’s hand and shakes it with a small smile. “Better not let the redheaded giant hear her say that.”

“Oh, I’ve met Danny via Skype. She can take the oldest friend title, but I claim best friend.”

Carmilla’s smile turned to a smirk. “Actually, I think that I might take the oldest friend title.”

SJ turns to you in surprise and you can feel your blush heating up again.

“Is that so?” SJ asks.

You clear your throat uncomfortably. “I mean, I met LaF like two weeks later when school started. And it’s not like I never had playdates with other kids before Carmilla got adopted.”

“Wait, you’re adopted?” Ell asks, turning to Carmilla in surprise. “And who’s ‘laugh’?”

“LaFontaine. Nonbinary mad scientist of Laura’s little Scooby gang,” Carmilla supplies while you’re busy feeling bad about blurting out the adoption thing.

Carmilla had never hid it, but you come from a small town and everyone knew anyway. You hadn’t considered that people here at college might not know. You hadn’t considered that Carmilla might not want to share it.

“And, yes, adopted. Should I wear a sign around my neck?”

Ell shrugs. “Yeah. Probably. It should read, ‘Sarcastic Asshole’,” she says with a wink, and you laugh despite your jealousy of her.

Carmilla shoots her a glare, but there are the traces of a smile on her lips, and you know she’s not offended.

“Oooh, if that’s what it should read, I like you already,” SJ declares, stepping forward and looping her arm through Carmilla’s, before heading out of the building, sweeping Carmilla along with her.

You take in Carmilla’s mildly shocked expression and the raised eyebrow she shoots over her shoulder at you before the door closes behind them.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue,” Ell murmurs, then she looks at you and offers her arm and a smile.

You hesitate. She’s not exactly the one you wanted to be linking arms with tonight. (Not that you’re actively hoping for extended physical contact with anyone tonight, obviously.) Plus you’ll look like even more of a midget at her side. Still, it’d be weird to say no for practically no reason, so you slip your hand into the crook of her elbow and let her lead you out of the building after your friends.

\--

Ell, it turns out, isn’t what you expected. She’s funny and sarcastic and just about the only person you’ve ever met who can just about match Carmilla in snark delivered with a smirk. You can’t help being a little jealous of the easy way in which they seem to relate to each other, but your jealousy over who you initially thought her to be fades before the appetizers arrive.

“So I nudged her arm. The one she was leaning on? It flopped down, her head banged on the easel, then she jerked it back up and she glared and, without missing a beat, growled, ‘Hey, you screwed up my line!’ No joke. I was just like, ‘Sweetie, you were asleep. I probably saved your line.’ And then, after all that, she looked down, and her pencil hadn’t even frickin’ moved. Her line was fine. So unfair.”

You giggle and SJ cracks up with a mouthful of fries beside you.

“You’re just mad because every time YOU fall asleep while drawing you end up with massive dark lines across your paper that aren’t supposed to be there,” Carmilla counters.

Ell narrows her eyes at Carmilla, who turns to you and gestures across her face while whispering, “And really big red marks all across her face. It’s great.”

“Shut it, Karnstein,” Ell says, elbowing Carmilla in the side.

“Just ‘cause you’re jealous of my talents.”

“Holding still while sleeping is not a talent.”

“You don’t seem to be able to do it.”

“Does she talk in her sleep, though? ‘Cause this one does. Mumbles away all the time. Rarely intelligible, but –“

“SJ!” you swat at her arm as she grins at you, feeling your cheeks flush red in embarrassment. Well, you’re never letting her crash in your room ever again. That’s for sure.

“You know, you’re right,” Carmilla says from across the table, and you feel like you’ve suddenly entered a ping pong match that you weren’t aware you were in with the way that SJ and Ell’s heads are now bouncing between the two of you, curiosity etched on their features.

(You detect a smug note on SJ’s face that you’ll be sure to pay her back for later.)

“What?” you finally say.

Carmilla simply shrugs, apparently unaware of the way that your friends are looking at the two of you, and says, “Heard you through the wall a few times.”

 _Oh god._ You try to remember your dreams from over break, and shudder to think what you might have said. You can feel your cheeks burning, and you know you must be a fairly bright shade of red by now. “Oh?”

“Don’t worry. You only moaned my name once or twice,” Carmilla replies with a smirk and a wink.

You instantly choke on the french fry that you’d been shoving into your mouth in an attempt to hide your panicked expression.

SJ pats you furiously on the back, as you cough and splutter, and you note a slight hint of alarm on Carmilla’s face. _Good,_ you think.

“Are you okay?” Ell asks, concern evident in her voice. “Karnstein, are you trying to kill your friends? See what being an asshole gets you?”

“Like you’re not an asshole, too,” Carmilla mumbles. “You okay, Laura?”

Her use of your actual name surprises you enough that you stop coughing for a moment, and you manage a small nod. “Yeah,” you croak before coughing some more. “Just choked.”

Conversation falters as you manage to get control of your breathing again, and you can feel your cheeks still burning as all eyes are on you.

“I was only teasing, cupcake. I didn’t hear my name once. Just incoherent mumbling. So if you’d like to relax before your head explodes…”

You shoot her a glare as you sip on your coke to sooth your throat.

“Cupcake?” SJ asks.

“Don’t mind Carmilla. She has this annoying habit of never using anyone’s actual name,” Ell says, waving a dismissive hand in Carmilla’s direction. “She usually uses unflattering nicknames, though, or uses them more condescendingly. Apparently she thinks Laura is sweet.”

“Or edible,” SJ concludes.

You spit out your coke, but manage to avoid properly choking again. You kick SJ under the table.

“Ow,” she mumbles, but she’s smirking at you and doesn’t look remotely sorry for her comment.

You risk a glance at Carmilla, but she’s smirking, too, and, fortunately, not looking at you.

“So, anyway…” you say, wishing desperately that you had an alternate direction to steer this conversation in right now. All eyes turn back to you as you wrack your brain for any topic of conversation that’s not apt to make you die of embarrassment or spontaneously combust from blushing.

“I want to know the deets about you two growing up,” SJ declares, and it’d almost be her stepping in to save you, except for the topic she’s chosen.

You look hopelessly at Carmilla, who raises an eyebrow at you as if to say, “I’ll only tell them as much as you want to.”

“There’s not really much to tell. Small town. Our dads were friends. We didn’t hang out much in middle school or high school or anything. That’s it, really. We didn’t even know we were both going to the same college until we ran into each other.”

SJ and Ell look at each other, then at the two of you, skepticism written on their faces.

“But now that you’re in college together you’re suddenly close enough friends that Carmilla stayed at your house half of break?” SJ asks after a pause that lasts just long enough that you’re squirming in your seat.

“It was a few days at the start and end,” Carmilla mutters. “You’d understand if you knew my mother.”

“You really would,” Laura confirms.

“But you went from not being friends in high school to suddenly being friends now?” Ell asks.

You look at Carmilla, at a loss of how to respond to that. If you’re being honest, you’re still working out how exactly that seems to be the case, too.

“We weren’t NOT friends in high school. We just…”

“Weren’t actively friends, either,” you finish awkwardly.

“Oh, well, thanks. That clears everything right up. I’m good now. No more questions from me. Ell? You got any questions?”

“Nope. Mystery solved. You two are clearly boring and not at all weird.”

You glower at SJ and catch Carmilla giving Ell an icy glare out of the corner of your eye.

“Come on! She was your first friend? And then she wasn’t your friend? And now she IS your friend? There is so much more to this story than you’re telling us,” SJ persists.

“Did you stay close with everyone you were friends with in elementary school as you grew up?” Carmilla challenges.

SJ opens her mouth to respond, but closes it a second later. “Well, okay, no. Not exactly.”

“But if you saw one of those people on campus today, wouldn’t you be curious about who they are now?” Carmilla asks.

SJ tilts her head from side to side. “Yeah, okay, there may be some validity to the point you’re trying to make.”

“But that’s not this, because you told me that you’ve always been around Laura, even if you weren’t ‘actively friends’, whatever the hell that means, so you always knew who she was,” Ell interjects.

Your eyes dart to Carmilla of their own accord. She’s rolling her eyes in a way that reminds you all-too-much of the old Carmilla, and for some reason that makes something pang in your chest. You swallow hard as she sighs.

“We’d hang out from time to time, right, cupcake?”

You nod confirmation, though you’re pretty sure, “hanging out” was a generous word for the way that Carmilla had interacted with your group of friends during high school.

“My brother’s part of her Scooby gang, too, so it’s not like there would have been an escape if I’d wanted one.”

 _If_ she’d wanted one. So she didn’t. She didn’t want to escape from you. Except, you’re fairly certain there was a time when she did. A time you both wanted to escape from each other, or perhaps, it was just that you both wanted to escape from your town and your new reality.

She’s raising her eyebrow at you before you realize that you’ve been staring at her, open-mouthed. You close your mouth and look down at your soda, not trusting yourself to make eye contact with anyone right now. “It’s a small town,” you mumble around your straw before taking a long sip of mercifully cool soda.

An awkward silence descends on the table, and you hope and pray that maybe SJ and Ell have realized that you and Carmilla don’t want to relive the past tonight.

“Hey, so you know Kirsch, right?” SJ asks Carmilla.

You turn to SJ in confusion at the sudden change of subject, but she’s looking expectantly at Carmilla, who looks as confused as you feel.

“Who?” Ell inquires.

“Overgrown puppy dog of a doofus. Part of that one’s dimwit squad,” Carmilla explains, nodding across the table at you. “Total bro type, but harmless compared to most of them. Definitely more brawn than brains, but surprisingly genuine. The real question is how do YOU know Kirsch?” Carmilla asks, raising her eyebrows at SJ.

“He was in one of the Skypes with Danny recently. He’s cute.”

“You didn’t tell me you thought he was cute,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at her.

SJ shrugs. “It’s not like it was love at first sight, or something, and it’s not like it matters since he goes to school so far away. I just thought I’d get Carmilla’s take on him. I get the feeling she calls things like she sees them.”

“She calls things on the critical side of how she sees them,” Ell corrects. “She’s a bit of a pessimist, really.”

“I am not. I’m a realist,” Carmilla counters.

“You’re in denial, is what you are,” Ell replies.

Carmilla pinches her in the side and Ell yelps, and you and SJ can’t help but laugh a little.

(You don’t feel a slight pang of jealousy. Not really. They’re just friends. Besides, even if they weren’t it wouldn’t matter, right? You don’t have a crush. You don’t _want_ to have a crush. You’re friends. Proper friends. Friends like you always wanted to be. Friends don’t get jealous when their friends date people. Right?)

“She’s just jealous because I’m more observant than she is,” Carmilla says, turning back to you.

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?” Ell sighs.

“Nope,” Carmilla confirms, reaching for the last fry. She glances up at you as she takes it and raises her eyebrows in a silent question of “you want it?”

You shake your head and try not to read anything into the fact that you’re the only person at the table she bothered to ask before she pops the last fry into her mouth.

“Let what go?” SJ asks, and you remember to tune back into the conversation as Ell sighs heavily and begins to tell you the story.

“We were at this party last semester –”

“She dragged me. Insisted we needed to go out even though I really needed to work on this one drawing for class –”

“She needed a dose of fun because she was becoming a real stick in the mud,” Ell counters. “Anyway, I was having fun, talking to some friends –”

“One of whom was crushing really hard on my oblivious roommate over here,” Carmilla interrupts again.

“Look, I thought she was just being friendly!” Ell defends herself.

“She offered you her jacket when you shivered.”

“You know, Karnstein, some people are just nice,” Ell snaps at Carmilla who simply smirks back.

“Some people also just want to get in your pants,” Carmilla replies. “She was definitely in that category, not that Ell would have known if I hadn’t finally told her that in such clear terms,” she adds, looking at you and SJ.

“And I have thanked you for that.”

“Mmhm, but you’re leaving out the best part of the story.”

“I hate you.”

“See, while this poor girl was practically throwing herself at Miss Oblivious, _she_ was busy whining –”

“I wasn’t whining!” Ell protests.

“She was whining about how she hadn’t gotten a single date since coming to college.”

“You are such an ass,” Ell grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

“A sarcastic ass,” Carmilla replies with a grin.

“Okay, you two are my new favorite people!” SJ declares.

“Hey!” you say, pouting out your lower lip.

“After the needy one next to me, of course,” SJ corrects.

“That’s better. Wait…Hey! I’m not needy.”

“It’s okay, Laur. I love you anyway,” SJ says, patting you on the head.

The sound of Carmilla’s soft chuckle from across the table distracts you from being offended. When you glance her way and see the amusement in her eyes as she looks at you, you feel something stir inside you.

 _Just friends. Real friends_ , you tell yourself, and you find yourself chuckling along with her. _Just friends._

\--

“So…this should be a thing,” Carmilla says as she pulls away from a hug that you were really doing your best not to get lost in.

(Okay, you were failing miserably. It’s not your fault that she fits so well against your body.)

“W-what?” you stammer. You know she doesn’t mean you and her.

“This. Dinner. Like on a weekly basis or something. You can bring the rest of whatever gang I’m sure you’ve accumulated here. I’ll keep bringing this loser,” Carmilla says, wrapping an arm around Ell’s waist.

Ell drapes an arm over Carmilla’s shoulders and says, “Yeah, yeah, love you, too, Karnstein.”

Carmilla’s eyes don’t leave yours, but you feel that annoying tug of jealousy in the pit of your stomach again at how comfortable Carmilla seems with touching Ell. It’s stupid. They’re friends. They’re roommates. They literally live together. Of course there would be comfort there. Of course there’d be an easiness that you don’t have with her.

(Of course, it probably helps that Ell doesn’t seem to be harboring long-term feelings that go beyond the platonic for Carmilla, too.)

“We would love to,” SJ declares, wrapping her arm around you. “Right, Laur?”

You nod, your eyes still trained on Carmilla. You feel your lips turn up into a smile when Carmilla shoots you a grin.

“Until next week, then, cupcake,” Carmilla says, giving you a nod. “Cupcake’s new best friend extraordinaire.” Carmilla nods at SJ.

“Pretty sure SJ is shorter,” SJ replies with a wink, and Carmilla answers with a smirk.

“Don’t take it personally,” Ell says, pulling SJ into a hug. “I’ve only heard her call me Ell three times since I met her.”

SJ laughs, then steps back. “Well, I guess we’ll see you next week!”

“Don’t be strangers!” Ell calls as you and SJ start to head towards your dorms.

You glance over your shoulder and find Carmilla’s eyes on you. She gives a small wave and you raise a hand in reply just before SJ hip-checks you.

“Ow!” you mumble, turning a glare on SJ.

“No crush, huh?”

“On who?” you play dumb.

SJ rolls her eyes. “Who? Oh, I don’t know. The girl who you spent most of the night staring at? The one who makes you turn bright red anytime she says anything that could be construed as even vaguely suggestive? You know: your used to be friends, then used to not be friends, but now you are friends friend.”

You groan. “I don’t turn _that_ red.”

SJ pats you on the back. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.”

“And there’s no crush.”

“Keep telling yourself that, too. Maybe someday you’ll believe it.”

Yeah. Maybe someday. Sooner rather than later would be nice.


	9. Post Midterm Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla invites Laura to a party with friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted unbeta'd because my poor usual beta is sick, although she did read along to most of it as I wrote, and helped me improve some things, including inputting a vampire joke. Thanks, Amy! Feel better soon!

Dinners with Carmilla and Ell become a weekly thing. SJ makes a regular appearance and Natalie comes to quite a few, but Elsie’s taking an evening class this semester and Betty starts dating one of her lab TA’s, so they rarely make it.

You don’t mind, though. Half of you (the half that you’re trying to ignore) likes it better the fewer people besides Carmilla there are.

It _is_ fun when there’s a group of you, and it’s kind of amazing how different Carmilla is at interacting with all of you here than she was with your group of friends at home. She’s actually good at it, which you probably shouldn’t find as surprising as you do. It’s not like you can’t carry on good conversations with her, so it shouldn’t be shocking to discover that she’s actually pretty good at talking to other people too, right? It’s just that you’re pretty sure she’s said more to SJ in the past few weeks than she’s said to Danny in all the years you’ve known her.

Okay, sure, she’s still every bit the sarcastic asshole you knew in high school, and her snark has no match (although Ell comes close), but in a fun way that means that all of you end up laughing…a lot.

You don’t just see Carmilla at your weekly dinners, though.

It’s funny to think that you almost never saw her on campus during your first semester, because this semester it seems like you see her all over. You run into her in the cafeteria, you see her crossing the quad between classes, and you bump into her at the grocery store so often, that you start making your trips together.

(For every container of cookies you put in, she adds something healthy to the cart. You tell yourself your heart doesn’t skip a beat when she playfully hip-checks you and says, “Can’t have you dying of a sugar overdose on me, cupcake.”)

Carmilla has been a part of your life for almost all of it (and she’s been on your mind far more than you’d ever admit for all of that time), but suddenly it feels like she’s taken over your life. You think about her all the time. Well, not ALL the time. Classes and papers DO occupy a lot of your time. It’s more…When something happens, good or bad, she’s the one you find yourself wanting to talk to about it. She’s the first person you text most mornings and the last person you text most nights. Random little stupid things remind you of her all the time. Like when you spot the mythical albino squirrel on campus. You instantly pull out your phone and snap a picture, then text it to her.

**_Laura (3:28 p.m.)_ ** _: I finally found someone paler than you. ;)_

**_Carmilla (3:29 p.m.)_ ** _: Not all of us have time to suntan on the quad._

**_Laura (3:31 p.m.)_ ** _: That was 1 time! I told you SJ would not take no for an answer!_

**_Carmilla (3:33 p.m.)_ ** _: Whatever you say._

The way you grin at that simple interaction is downright stupid, but you can’t help yourself. You roll your eyes at it, too, and tell yourself those two things balance out.

\--

You miss her when midterms come. In between practically pulling your hair out over your Media Writing project and your research paper for Intro to Biological Anthro (which is supposed to be ridiculously long), and stress-eating cookies while you pore over your textbooks in prep for the three exams you are expected to take in the span of a week, that is. Seriously, who thought it was okay to put this much pressure on eighteen and nineteen year-olds? To make matters worse, you know that the workload is only going to get more intense in the coming years, which, at the moment, seems all but impossible.

Carmilla’s buried in the middle of projects, and the one time you managed to get ahold of her, she mumbles something barely coherent into the phone about not having left the art building in days and having forgotten what sunlight feels like on her face. If you weren’t buried in a pile of research books almost as tall as you are, you’d have tried to go see her and make sure she’s at least eating and sleeping a little bit, but you’re not even doing that well at taking care of yourself at the moment.

By the time you step out of your last final you’re feeling downright Carmilla-deprived, which is kind of crazy to think, since a year ago the extent of your interactions consisted of the odd snarky comment in the hallway at school, a considerable number of eye-rolls, and some rejected invitations to join in a group get-together. (Okay, maybe there was the odd longing glance from your direction, but you pretended then that they didn’t exist and you’re more than happy to continue pretending that.)

Your phone rings before you have a chance to debate the merits of texting Carmilla who is likely either passed out from sheer exhaustion or working on something in the studio. It turns out that she is neither of those things, because she’s on the phone with you.

The smile that graces your face and the way your heart skips a beat at hearing her voice are ridiculous things that really need to stop now, thank you very much. (They don’t.)

“So my stupid roommate seems to think that I’m in need of a party tonight instead of a solid twenty-four hours of sleep.”

“Isn’t Ell just as exhausted as you are?”

“No. She handed in her last project yesterday so is a full day ahead of me in rest. Also, I’m starting to think she’s not entirely human. If I hadn’t seen her in broad daylight, I might think that she was a vampire who doesn’t need sleep like the rest of us.”

You chuckle at that. “Well, I think you should probably rest,” you say, resisting the urge to offer your bed as a place for her to crash again. As nice as it would be to see her, you kind of need somewhere to sleep yourself, and Carmilla isn’t exactly the best company when she’s unconscious.

“Trust me, I’ve tried to win this argument already. Stupid roommate won’t take no for an answer. So, anyway, would you like to come and prop me up? I make no promises about not falling asleep on your shoulder.”

Your heart doesn’t start to race at that prospect. Nope. Not at all. Not one bit.

(Dammit.)

“Oh, um, I –“ You take a deep breath as words fail you, and try again. “Well, with an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

“Perfect. Meet at our dorm at 9:30? We’ll pregame a bit? You can bring Bouncy and the worrywart if you want. Hell, bring the other two, too, if they’re around. At least then I’ll be assured I won’t be surrounded by _complete_ idiots.”

You roll your eyes at Carmilla’s insistence at not using people’s names. Although, you have to admit that SJ does have a tendency to bounce along rather than walk, and Natalie _is_ quite the worrier. If there’s a mom friend in the group, it’s definitely Natalie. “Okay, I’ll let them know.”

“Great. Now I’m going to go be unconscious for as long as Ell lets me. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” you murmur before she hangs up.

It takes you a few moments of staring at your phone for it to sink in that Carmilla Karnstein has just actually _invited_ _you_ to a party. You won’t just be bumping into her there, or showing up hoping to see her. You’ll be there as her guest.

It definitely doesn’t make butterflies flutter up in your stomach.

Nope.

Not at all.

\--

You’ve got a little bit of a buzz going by the time you get to the party, a rather tired and pale Carmilla at your side, arm linked through yours.

SJ and Ell are a bit beyond buzzed and stumbling along in front of you.

Carmilla’s level of intoxication is hard to read. Prior to Christmas break you’d have said that if she was willingly touching you, she was probably at least slightly intoxicated. These days it’s different, though. She hugs you when you meet up or when you part ways. She pokes you in the side when she thinks you’re being too stubborn (and takes far too much glee in the involuntary squeal that inevitably follows – it’s not your fault you’re incredibly ticklish). She reaches across you for food at dinner or at the grocery store (and you’ve almost got yourself under control enough that you don’t have to actively hold your breath to keep from reacting to the sensation of her arm brushing past your chest). Her linking her arm through yours doesn’t mean she’s had too much, it’s just a sign of how far your friendship has come.

The house is crowded, but not too loud yet, and Carmilla pulls you in a little tighter as you head into the kitchen with SJ and Ell. Ell is the first to reach the booze and she hands you and Carmilla each a beer. Carmilla shoots you a grin, clunks her can against yours “Here’s to another house party,” she says.

You nod and bring the can to your mouth, taking a small sip before she adds, “Try not to kiss me at this one, cupcake,” with a small wink.

It takes everything you’ve got to not spray your mouthful of beer everywhere. It’s really pretty impressive that you manage to swallow almost without choking at all. As it is, you have to cough a few times. You know that you’ve turned beet red, and you very specifically do NOT look at SJ when she gasps, “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, could you maybe elaborate on previous kisses?” Ell joins in, shock evident in her voice.

“And why is this the first we’re hearing about previous kisses?” SJ adds.

You make the mistake of glancing at Carmilla, who’s smirking (way too attractively) over her can of beer.

“Well??” Ell demands. “I want to hear about these kisses!”

Sometimes you really hate your friends.                      

“It was ONE kiss and it wasn’t even REALLY a kiss and it was an ACCIDENT and it didn’t MEAN anything and –“

“Breathe, cupcake,” Carmilla murmurs with a chuckle, placing her hand lightly on the small of your back and making it all but impossible for you to do just that. “Sunshine, here, got a little drunk on New Year’s Eve and missed my cheek at midnight,” Carmilla explains turning back to Ell and SJ who stand there with their mouths hanging open.

“And we’re only just hearing about this because…???” Ell manages after a moment of gaping at the two of you.

“It was no big deal,” Carmilla says with a shrug.

You take a large swig of your beer and tell yourself that the easy way she says that doesn’t sting just a little. You don’t WANT it to have been a big deal for her. You don’t WANT it to be an issue for the two of you or a barrier in your friendship in anyway.

“And an accident,” you add.

“So you said,” SJ says, eying you suspiciously.

You feel your cheeks turning a darker shade of red, and Carmilla’s hand still on your back is making it hard to calm down.

“Anyway, apparently I’m not the only friend she’s kissed,” Carmilla volunteers.

You might be wrong, but it kind of sounds like she’s enjoying your squirming a little too much.

“Carmilla!” you whine in protest.

“What?” SJ asks. “She’s never kissed me!”

Carmilla shakes her head. “Friends from home. More non-events by the sound of it.”

“Hmph, well now I feel left out,” SJ declares, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting out her lower lip, all without spilling her beer.

You roll your eyes. “Would you like me to kiss you, SJ?”

SJ pretends to consider the offer. “Hmmm. I dunno. How is she? Any good? Soft lips?” SJ asks Carmilla.

You really, really don’t want to hear Carmilla’s answer, and you do your best to look anywhere but at her. Your stupid ears prick up, though, when she shrugs and says, “I’ve definitely had worse.”

You elbow her in the side and give SJ a playful shove. “You all suck,” you mutter before stomping off a little ways.

When the three of them join you, they’re all laughing.

“Any chance we can now go and enjoy the party that we’re currently at, rather than reliving my embarrassing moments from parties past?” you suggest.

“Okay, okay,” Carmilla says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ell asks.

“Well, come on, now. If we don’t give her the chance to enjoy this party, how will we have future embarrassing moments to tease her about?” SJ points out.

You glare at her and she grins broadly at you.

“Ooooh, good point,” Ell says. She glances to Carmilla with a look that you can’t decipher, but Carmilla doesn’t react, so she turns back to you. “Drink up, Hollis.”

You glower at her, but take her advice and down a large swig of your beer.

“Come on,” Carmilla says, guiding you away from the ever-more-crowded drinks area, “Let’s go find someplace we don’t have to mingle too much.”

“You really get this party thing, don’t you,” you comment.

Carmilla shoots you a grin. “Of course.”

You’ve almost relaxed from the teasing by the time you find a couch in a corner. Maybe that’s why you forget to breathe when Carmilla murmurs, “You _do_ have very soft lips,” in your ear, before leaping gracefully into what is undoubtedly the comfiest spot on the couch (or at least the one with the least beer stains).

_Oh. Okay, then. That’s fine._

\--

“So, speaking of parties…” Ell begins, sometime after you’ve passed by buzzed and are headed firmly into drunk territory.

“We weren’t,” Carmilla says in a bland voice.

“Well, we are now,” Ell shoots back.

“She’s got you there,” you say, poking Carmilla in the side with a little giggle.

She gives you a look that you’d like to call fond, but maybe that’s just the alcohol playing with your vision, because the next second she’s rolling her eyes at you.

“Anyway…You know Carmilla’s birthday is coming up in a few weeks…”

Shit. Yes. You did know that. Or at least you would have known that if you’d thought about it for a second.

Long forgotten memories of frilly dresses, lemonade, and games of tag flash across your mind, and you glance at Carmilla, wondering if she might be thinking about them, too. You can still almost hear the booming laughter of her father, and your dad’s lighter chuckling as they argue over who should man the grill and trade jokes back and forth.

“Oh…yeah. Right,” you murmur, noting that Carmilla is specifically avoiding meeting your gaze.

“And we’re going to be having a party!” Ell continues.

“No we’re not,” Carmilla mutters.

“Yes, we are,” Ell persists. “And you are going to help me plan it…Please?” she bats her eyes at you and you can’t help but laugh.

“Sure,” you agree.

“I don’t NEED a party,” Carmilla groans. “I NEED sleep.”

“You’ll get your sleep. You’ve survived another year on this godforsaken planet. You need a party,” Ell declares.

“Here, here!” SJ agrees, her drink sloshing out of the can as she waves it about.

“I haven’t survived it yet,” Carmilla mutters. “You know sleep deprivation can kill you after a while.”

“You’re not THAT sleep deprived yet,” Ell argues.

“I am. I’m close. I might just fall asleep right here,” Carmilla informs her.

And then she’s leaning her head on your shoulder, throwing an arm across you, snuggling in and saying, “Laura, here, makes a pretty good pillow.”

You try to remember to keep breathing. You try really, really hard. Except the strangled gurgle that emerges from your throat suggests that maybe you’re not doing a very good job of that.

“Shhh. Pillows are quiet,” Carmilla chastises.

Your eyes must show the panic that you feel (and, God, you pray that Carmilla cannot hear exactly how fast your heart is racing right now) because  the look that SJ gives you has a touch of pity in it, and Ell smacks Carmilla’s arm and says, “Get up, you lazy bum, and stop smushing poor Laura!”

“I’m not smushing her,” Carmilla protests, not moving. “Right, cupcake?”

 _Nonchalant,_ you tell yourself. _Keep your answer nonchalant. Friendly._

“Very smushed. You weigh a ton.”

Well, the words were the right tone, but the awkward squeak in your voice was anything but.

Carmilla sighs and pushes off of you, and your body instantly misses the contact. On the other hand, you’re able to breathe again. That’s probably a good thing. Breathing is good, right?

“Just for that, I’m finishing that drink you’ve been milking,” Carmilla informs you, snatching the beer out of your hand and downing the rest of it. She grimaces as she swallows and wipes her mouth (and you do your best not to think about how Carmilla’s lips were just where yours were not long before). “Ew, it was warm,” she complains.

“Guess you shouldn’t have stolen it, then,” you reply, sticking out your tongue. You’re happy to hear that your voice sounds a lot more even now.

“So ANYWAY, back to this birthday thing…” Ell interrupts.

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “If we’re talking this crap, I need another drink.”

“You don’t have to be involved in the plans,” Ell informs her.

“Of course not. It’s not like it’s MY birthday or anything,” Carmilla shoots back.

“Glad we’re on the same page. Go ahead and get yourself another drink. We’ll be here talking parties,” Ell declares, pulling Carmilla out of her seat and plopping herself down in her place.

Carmilla stands and glares at her for a moment, but Ell waves her fingers shooing her away.

“Has she always been so excited about her birthday?” Ell asks you as SJ slumps down on your other side, squishing you between them.

You shrug, pushing down the memories of birthdays long past. “I really don’t know. We didn’t really celebrate together at home.”

Which, you realize, means she probably celebrated with family. Which means her mother. Which means she has no reason to be excited about birthdays. Even if Mattie and Will managed to do something spectacular, you have no doubt that her mother would manage to ruin it every time. You’re so lost in those thoughts that it takes you a minute to register the looks that Ell and SJ are giving you.

“So you two really didn’t hang out in high school?”

“We did sometimes, just…not like we do now,” you try to explain.

They’re both frowning at you, though, so you must not be doing a very good job. It’s possible that the alcohol in your system is impeding your ability to find words.

“Like it was all sarcasm and eye rolls and aloof comments on her part–“

“Oh, well, that is completely different. She never does those things now,” SJ comments, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You glare, and continue, “And, I don’t know, it was always with the group, like Will would drag her along, and…” You shrug. “It was different.”

“Will, the mysterious brother,” SJ says, leaning in even closer.

You laugh. “He’s not mysterious. He’s a goof.”

“Okay, but is he a hot goof? Like on a scale of one to Kirsch…” SJ prods.

You groan. “Okay, seriously, you need to get over this stupid crush on Kirsch. You haven’t even met him.”

“Um, excuse you, he entertains me via Skype on a regular basis,” SJ shoots back.

You roll your eyes, because even though you know that, it still weirds you out a bit. They’ve become real friends despite never having met in person (though obviously people do that all the time, that’s not what weirds you out). It’s just that it’s the mixing of your old life and your new life. And, obviously you’re doing that anyway by hanging out with Carmilla at college, but somehow that feels different. It’s stupid, you’re sure. You’re being silly. Still, it’s weird.

Ell starts talking potentially party plans, but your brain doesn’t seem to want to pay attention. Instead, you find yourself scanning the ever-more-crowded room for Carmilla. When you do finally spot her, your stomach twists itself in knots because she’s not alone. There is a girl (an _attractive_ girl) batting her eyes at Carmilla. It’s not the first time you’ve witnessed it, but unlike previous times, Carmilla actually seems interested. There’s a half-smirk on her face and her eyes are straying over the girl’s (far-too-exposed) body. When the girl leans in close to talk into Carmilla’s ear, Carmilla leans in to meet her.

You tune back into Ell when she presses her cheek to yours and follows your gaze.

“How does she do it?”

“Hmm?” you ask, doing your best to immediately appear not nearly as interested in Carmilla’s current whereabouts as you actually are.

“That.” Ell waves a hand in Carmilla’s general direction. “She doesn’t even _try_. It’s not like she has a welcoming disposition, either,” Ell mutters. “But it doesn’t matter. Pretty girls just fall at her feet anyway.” Ell sighs and rolls her eyes, before easing away from you and resuming her babble about party plans.

SJ links her arm through yours and pulls you a little tighter, and when you glance at her, her smile is sympathetic.

It’s stupid. You don’t need sympathy. Carmilla can flirt with whoever she wants. Hell, she can sleep with whoever she wants. She’s not yours, or anything. You’re _friends_. F-R-I-E-N-D-S. As long as she’s happy, you’re happy.

Except…

You don’t feel happy. You feel a little sick. You have not had NEARLY enough alcohol to feel sick.

“I need another drink,” you declare, cutting Ell off mid-sentence and standing so abruptly that SJ and Ell end up falling towards each other into the space that you had previously occupied.

“Oh. Okay,” Ell murmurs, confusion evident in her voice.

You hear SJ start to mutter something to her as you stride away.

You TRY not to walk too close to where Carmilla’s flirting with the girl, but there are only so many ways to get to the alcohol and there is annoyingly a large group of rambunctious frat boys blocking the one that would allow you to avoid Carmilla completely.

“Hey, cupcake!” you hear her call out when you’re almost past her unnoticed.

When you look at her, she’s moving towards you with a smile, the girl following after her.

“Where you headed? I was just bringing you another beer. You know, since I finished your last one, and all,” she informs you, throwing an arm around your shoulder, beer in hand.

When you don’t immediately take it, she nudges you practically in the boob with it, leaving cold condensation seeping through your shirt.

“Hey,” you grumble, taking it from her.

“The appropriate response is ‘thanks’, cutie,” she reprimands you.

You try not to feel too gleeful at the put out look on the flirty girl’s face.

“Thanks,” you say in an exaggerated way, sticking out your tongue at Carmilla.

She wrinkles her nose and bonks her head lightly against yours. “Ungrateful. I should drink it myself.”

You notice that her beer is already half gone, and based on the current amount of physical contact and the way she’s leaning on you a little more heavily than normal, you’d say she’s definitely well into tipsy territory at the very least now. “No way. It’s mine now,” you say, before taking a large gulp.

“You think your germs will deter me? Do I need to remind you again about what happened to the end of your last drink?”

You force down another swallow and manage not to choke at her implication. The flirty girl is narrowing her eyes at you now, so you shoot her a smile. The smile might lack a touch of genuineness.

She steps forward and extends a hand with a fake smile of her own. “Hi, I’m Michelle.”

Carmilla lets go of you, and moves a step back towards Michelle, whose smile turns genuine and lecherous when her gaze shifts back to Carmilla.

“Right,” Carmilla says, biting her lower lip and letting her eyes trail over Michelle again.

The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach returns and you take a few more large gulps of beer that do nothing to help it.

“Hello!”

You hadn’t noticed Ell’s approach, but there she is, popping up between you and Carmilla and wrapping an arm around the two of you.

“Roommate,” Carmilla acknowledges her with a head nod.

“I really have to fucking pee and there’s a line at the bathroom. How bad do you think it is if I pee in the yard?”

“Depends on if you get caught by the people who live here or not,” Carmilla replies.

“Hmm…In that case, I need you two to cover me,” she declares, hooking one arm through yours and her other arm through Carmilla’s and tugging you both towards the back door. “Oh, and don’t even think about ditching us for a pretty face tonight, Miss ‘I need sleep more than anything in the world’.”

\--

The night air is cooler than you’d have thought given the warm spring day you’d had, and it sobers you up a bit.

You stand awkwardly side by side with Carmilla, feeling like the world’s smallest bodyguard as the telltale sounds of Ell relieving herself occur behind you.

“How come you didn’t mention your birthday was coming up sooner?” you finally ask, just to listen to anything besides what might be the longest pee ever happening behind you.

“Didn’t you know you needed reminding, Cupcake,” she replies, and an attractive smirk is on her face when you glance her way. “Anyway, Mattie’s coming to visit, so I figured she and I would do dinner somewhere and that’d be that.”

Mattie. Here. That’s fine. It’s fine. It’s not like you’ve always found her incredibly intimidating or anything.

“Oh,” you reply, your voice more a squeak. “Well, I guess she’ll just have to come to the party now?”

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Carmilla mutters, sarcasm dripping from every word.

You can’t really see Carmilla’s ever-poised sister at a typical college party and you make mental notes to redirect Ell’s party plans into something that perhaps both sisters might enjoy better.

“Any present requests?” you ask rather than admit just how nervous you are at the prospect of seeing Mattie again.

The pause before her answer lasts long enough that you look her way again, only to find her looking at you with an expression you can’t read. She looks away quickly and shrugs.

“Sleep?”

You laugh. “I think you’ll have gotten some by then.”

She yawns. “I fucking hope so.”

“Okay! All done! Back to the party!” Ell says, stepping forward and zipping up her fly. “Vamonos!”


	10. Future Snippets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers two stretches in time, both jumps from where the story left off last. One is senior year of college. There's drama and development and whatnot that's been missed, I'm sorry, but as properly as I wanted to tell this story, life has intervened and made that impossible. The second segment is about four years after college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I will be the mother to not just my two-year-old daughter, but also two brand new baby boys anytime in the next two weeks, so keep your fingers crossed for me! Please enjoy the snippets.

**Time Jump 1**

**\--**

This is it. This is your moment. You like her. Hell, Ell and SJ have probably been right all along and you’re probably really in love with her, and she’s there and she likes you back. She does. You KNOW she does. You know her like you’ve never known anyone else, and she’s looking at you like…like THAT.

So you do the only thing you can.

Her hand on your waist tightens and you feel more than hear the sharp little inhale of breath as your lips meet hers. They’re soft and warm and it almost feels like your lips are melting into a warm marshmallow, except for the way your heart is racing and your hands have gone a little clammy, and there’s the slightest whimper falling from your lips.

And then she starts to kiss you back. Her lips are needy and demanding, but somehow still tender in the way they meet yours over and over. Her hand slides around your back and pulls you closer and you fall into her willingly. You cup her face with one hand, sliding your fingers into her hair, and you wonder momentarily if her hair has always been this incredibly soft, or if somehow kissing makes it softer, and then you stop wondering anything except how you could have waited so long to do this because her tongue is swiping into your mouth and brushing against yours.

It’s possible you’ve died and gone to heaven. You should probably have her pinch you or something to make sure this isn’t just the most amazing dream ever.

And then….

And then, it’s not. Her hand finds your waist again, but the grip is harsh and then it’s shoving you away, tearing her lips away from yours in the process. For a moment you’re not sure what’s happening. It feels like her body’s moving away, but her lips still seem like they’re trying to get closer to you again, and then her eyes are open and...Angry?

There’s so much anger, and you’re not sure where it came from.

“Get away!” her voice is that dangerous growl that you’ve heard before, but never, ever directed at you.

“Carm?”

“Get away from me,” she warns, stepping back.

“But – I don’t – Carmilla?” your voice sounds tiny even to your own ears and you take a step forward, automatically reaching out, but she matches you with two steps back.

You look her in the eyes, willing her to explain, silently begging her to laugh and pull you back in for another kiss. Her eyes soften in return and you think maybe it’ll be fine and she was just having a momentary freak out from kissing you after you’ve been friends for so long, but then her face hardens again and she throws up her hands as she steps back further.

“NO! No! I’m not going to do this! I’m not going to let YOU do this! I’m not going to let your family ruin my dreams AGAIN!” She shakes her head vigorously as she talks and her eyes are doing anything but looking directly at you.

“What?” You feel like you’ve been slapped in the face and punched in the gut all at once.

“You know why our parents were in the car together, don’t you? No, of course you don’t. Naïve, little Laura. I’m sure no one ever said it to your face. Your mother stole my father away from me, Laura! They were having an affair! Your family is toxic. I’m not going to let _you_ take away everything _I’ve_ worked so hard for.”

You’re not half as naïve as Carmilla thinks you are and even as a child your father hadn’t been able to shield you from the rumors. They weren’t true, though, and you KNOW Carmilla knows that, but, in this moment, all you see is fear on her face. She’s lashing out, though you can’t quite wrap your head around _why_ as your lips still tingle from where hers had been pressed to them mere moments before and the skin at your waist still burns where her fingers had gripped you beneath your shirt.

“Carmilla, I’m not trying to take anyth-“

“I need to get out of here. I need….I need you to leave me alone, Laura. If you…If you…” Carmilla’s voice is shaky and her breathing seems labored and you’re torn between wanting to go to her and wrap her in a hug and tell her everything will be fine and wanting to slap her for the ache that’s spread across your chest at her words. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing just now kissing me, but...just leave, Laura.”

\--

You think maybe it was a horrible, horrible joke. Then you think it must just have been an overreaction. Maybe it was brought on by fear. Maybe she just didn’t feel the same (except you’d felt her lips on yours, you’d felt how needy her lips had been – you can’t believe she didn’t want it just as much as you).

Either way, she’ll come around in a few days. Just give her a little space, you tell yourself.

Except a week rolls past with no calls and no text and no apology.

A week and a half in and you text her. You can’t stop yourself. You miss your fucking best friend. You miss everything that Carmilla has become to you in the last three years.

You don’t get a response, so you send another one, then another, then another. Each one is progressively angrier, but you can feel anger bubbling up inside yourself.

Finally you get a response. Four words.

_Stop texting. Goodbye, Laura._

The use of your name stings more than any slap could have, and before you know it your eyes are brimming with tears that spill over and burn their way down your cheeks.

Her words from the fight echo in your head, dredging up old emotions and old insecurities, and it makes your blood start to boil. You know your mother wasn’t having an affair despite the rumors after the accident. You remember Carmilla’s dad. You remember his kindness and you know the witness that saw him stop to offer your mom a ride was telling the truth. You remember the way your father had looked you dead in the eye when you had asked about words heard uttered in hushed voices behind cupped hands that did nothing to keep them from damaging you. You remember the sincerity in his voice when he’d said that your mother loved both of you very much and, anyway, he’d joked, when would she have had time for an affair when she was always home to greet you with a kiss. You remember the sadness in your father’s eyes when he’d talked about losing his two best friends in one day and how there had not been even a trace of bitterness as Carmilla’s father’s name had fallen from his lips. More than anything, you remember the way your mother and father looked at each other: the sheer joy and love that they’d shared coursing between every fiber of their being. There had been no affair, only malicious gossip trying to find scandal in tragedy.

\--

  **Time Jump 2**

**\--**

She’s the last person you ever expected to run into on the streets of New York. Well, maybe the second to last person…

The smile on her face throws you off because for Mattie it almost seems genuine. The hug she pulls you into with the air kiss on the cheek baffle you completely because you’re still fairly sure that at best she tolerated your presence in her sister’s life. Then again, you haven’t been a presence in Carmilla’s life for…Well, you’d rather pretend you don’t know the exact amount of time, thank you very much. 

The invitation to lunch leaves you speechless momentarily, but then there’s a twinkle in Mattie’s eyes and it almost feels like a dare. You’ve never really been one to back down from a challenge, so you say, “Sure. That would be great,” and you text work that you’ll need to push back your next meeting a bit.

\--

The conversation isn’t as stilted as you’d have imagined. Mattie always did know how to talk, and as usual she commands the entire room. The waitstaff fall over themselves to serve her, it seems, but she throws thin smiles your way and asks engaging questions that leave you with no choice but to answer. Before you know it you’re telling her far more than she’s probably interested in about your editing work, but she doesn’t let on if she’s bored.

She knows pieces you’ve written, too, which surprises you, but, then again, apparently you’re in the same city a lot, so maybe that’s an inevitability. 

The food comes quickly and as comfortable a silence as you’ve ever had with Mattie settles as you eat.

It’s only once the main course is cleared that Mattie sits back and surveys you in that way that she used to, like she’s looking through you and at you through a microscope all at the same time. She gives a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“My sister has always been stubborn.”

The comment takes you by surprise. You’d been fairly careful to avoid all but the politest of mentions of Carmilla and Mattie had seemed to follow your lead. When she doesn’t immediately continue, you say, “I noticed that at a pretty young age.”

Mattie chuckles, her smile wide and easy. You can’t match it.

“Did you know that our mother almost made her quit art?”

Your heart drops into your stomach at the thought and your eyes go wide. “What?”

“I didn’t think she told you that. She really should have. It was stupid, too. There she was in her senior year, and Mother was threatening to stop paying for college and cut off her finances if she didn’t switch to a ‘real’ major, which would have undoubtedly kept her in school for several more years.”

Senior year. Senior year when she’d accused you of trying to take her dreams from her. Senior year when you’d let her slip out of your life. Senior year when you’d kissed her. Senior year when someone really was threatening to take all of her dreams away.

“But she didn’t,” you say. You’d seen Carmilla at graduation. You’d watched her walk across the stage with a storm of pride and heartbreak raging in your chest.

“No. Carmilla doubled her efforts in her art. She spent what seemed like 24/7 in the art building for the rest of her year. I was barely able to get ahold of her, and half the time when I did she’d fallen asleep beside her easel. That was right about the time she stopped mentioning you.”

Mattie’s eyes meet yours and there’s a knowing glint to them, and an understanding smile on her face, and you wonder how she can sit there so poised while your entire understanding of what happened your senior year of college crashes down around you.

“She….We …” You can’t find words to explain. You’re not sure you want to. Based on the look on Mattie’s face, you don’t need to.

“Mother was being petty when she threatened. I’m not sure she’d have actually done it, but you never can be sure with her. Carmilla had barely been home the summer before and she decided that offended her greatly and how dare Carmilla pretend that she wasn’t a member of the family. As if all of us weren’t just counting down the days until we turned 25 and gained control of our inheritance so that we never had to go home to her again.”

Your heart sinks further. You were the reason Carmilla had barely been home. Your Europe trip that you’d talked her in to. The nights when you were home that you insisted she stay over. You were the reason her mother had threatened to pull all of her dreams out from under her and then, selfishly, you’d asked for more. More of Carmilla, more of her time, and you’d kissed her.

“Ah, well, all ancient history now,” Mattie says, waving the conversation away, even though it feels like anything BUT ancient history you in this moment.

You nod anyway, attempting to swallow away the sudden parched feeling in your mouth. You reach for your water glass and gulp it down.

“There are only two things outside of our family I have ever known my sister to care about,” Mattie informs you when you’ve set the glass down. She reaches a hand across the table and takes yours, and her hand feels hot to the touch. You look up to meet her gaze, and she’s not smiling anymore. Her eyes are dark, and there’s a quality to her expression that makes you forget, just for a moment, that she and Carmilla aren’t biologically related. “One is art,” Mattie continues.

You nod. You’d seen that first hand, even if it was years ago.

“The other…” Mattie trails off, and her smile comes back. It’s more knowing, than warm, and you furrow your brows, willing her to continue.

You don’t dare guess what the other is. (You really don’t dare hope that it’s you.)

Mattie pats your hand and leans back, as if that’s just about covered everything and she hasn’t just ripped open all of the emotions you thought you’d packed away in a box somewhere in the closet of your mind.

“She has a show. In the city. You should see it while you’re in town.”

She mentions it so casually, but there’s a gleam in her eye that you can’t quite identify, and then she’s pulling a pen and an old receipt out of her purse and scribbling an address on the back of it.

“If you have time,” she says with a smile, sliding the piece of paper across the table to you.

You stare down at the address, clutching the piece of paper tightly in your fingers. It’s the closest you’ve felt to Carmilla in years and it sets your heart racing. You’ll find the time to go. You know you will.


	11. The Time Capsule is Opened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end! You get to find out what...well, only what Laura and Carmilla put in the time capsule, actually, because that's all I had mostly written/time to add.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this didn't end up the way I'd planned. Massive thanks to everyone who has stuck with this, especially through the year-long break. I hope the end was worth waiting for, even if the middle got flaked on (albeit for important, life-changing things). Thank you to everyone who's read my writing over the past few years. I feel really lucky to have found this fandom. Sadly, this is likely my parting from it, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Happy Holidays!  
> xx

Carmilla’s video is next and you dare not look in her direction. Her presence in the room has done nothing but feel like the most powerful force ever since she inched her way sullenly into the bedroom, but you just can’t acknowledge it.  It’s weird. You’d been fine when you’d run into her at your parents’ graves the last time. Not that you’d really looked directly at each other then, either, but somehow it was easy. Maybe it was because it was outside. In the room her presence feels damn near claustrophobic.

Your first thought, as the video starts to play and a sullen-looking Carmilla dressed all in black settles on a stool, glaring at the camera, is how very young she looked. It’s stupid. You all look younger in the videos. It was ten years ago, after all. A lifetime ago, it feels like. 

Your next thought, as video Carmilla clears her throat and grumbles something under her breath that you can’t make out is how she still sounds the same.

“Right, so I’m supposed to say something,” video Carmilla begins, and you can hear Carmilla shifting uncomfortably near the door. You don’t have to look her way to know it’s her.

“This is stupid and pointless and I don’t even know why I’m doing it,” video Carmilla continues with an eyeroll. “If it had been anyone else that had organized it, I wouldn’t have bothered. Well, here you go Laura Hollis. Happy time capsuling or whatever. Here’s my message to our future selves: be too busy living life to come back and relive the past.”

“Failed that one,” you hear her mutter, but you still can’t look at her because suddenly your heart is racing. You’re not really sure why. It wasn’t a particularly sweet message. Except…

No, you tell yourself. No except. 

“So what’d Drusilla put in the capsule?” Danny asks.

“Gotta be better than the Jolly Red Giant’s letter off her stupid high school jacket.”

“At least my message was a little uplifting!”

You reach in, almost dreading what your hand might retrieve. Your fingers find a solid edge and a glossy, stickiness, that your brain instantly identifies as “photograph”. You pull it out slowly, half afraid to look.

Your eyes widen, and it’s highly probable that you’re no longer breathing as you take in the picture. You don’t remember it being taken, but there you are, purple swimsuit, dripping pigtails, massive grin revealing a missing front tooth, standing in between Will and Carmilla. Will’s wearing green checkered swim trunks and missing both front teeth, grinning so broadly his eyes are shut and his dimples are deep. A juicy slice of watermelon is dripping all over his fingers. On your other side, Carmilla is donned in a green and yellow sundress that’s soaking through, revealing the outline of her obviously wet swimsuit. Her hair is down and a strand is draped almost blocking part of her face, but what your eyes focus on the most, what they can’t quite seem to leave, is the smile that’s on her face. She’s smiling. There, with you, ages and ages ago she was happy.

“Just a stupid old photo,” Carmilla fills the sudden silence, but there’s a crack in her voice that hadn’t been there before. You KNOW it means something. It has to.

Of all the things she could have put in, she put in a photo of you and her smiling. Okay, Will is in it too, but honestly you barely see him anymore. Instead you see the way she’s leaning towards you in the photo, the way you both look so relaxed, the way the photo makes it seem like it was always so easy to be in her presence.

You’re vaguely aware of LaFontaine leaning over and peering at the photo and partially some of the others too, but you know Carmilla doesn’t.

Your hands are still shaking and you can’t quite tear your eyes away from the photograph. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears, and you’re sure everyone else in the room must be able to hear it hammering away in your ribcage, too. You’re vaguely aware of the video changing, and you can hear your awkward clearing of your throat, and then Danny is reaching over and pausing it.

You still don’t look up. You still can’t do anything but trace the contours of little Carmilla’s face. The cut of her jaw, the curve of her smile, the freckles speckled across her nose. Your heart is beating for this little Carmilla staring back at you with dark eyes. It’s beating for the Carmilla that grabbed your hand and pulled you outside into the garden behind the reception area when you thought you might scream if one more person said “I’m sorry for your loss” after your mother’s funeral. It’s beating for the Carmilla who became your best friend so easily and unexpectedly that it caught you off-guard in college. It’s beating for the Carmilla who rejected you after your first kiss. It’s beating for the Carmilla that smiled sadly at you over gravestones with dates etched in that spoke of lives cut far too short. It’s beating for the Carmilla that’s leaning against the bookshelf in your room right now. It’s beating for all of the Carmilla’s in between and the could-have-beens between you.

“So, Hollis, what’d you put in the time capsule?” LaFontaine’s voice is barely louder than your heartbeat echoing in your head, but it breaks the spell just enough.

You rip your gaze away from the photograph and reach into the time capsule box, still gripping the picture tightly with your other hand.

You hear a small gasp when you pull out the bracelet, and you know without turning that it came from Carmilla. She’s the only one that would recognize its importance. You don’t know why, but you never told anyone else the real story behind it.

“Is that that bracelet you always used to wear?” Danny asks, taking the delicate piece of jewelry from you and examining it. “Why’d you put that in the time capsule?”

You don’t dare turn around or look at Carmilla. Not yet. Not while your mind is still scrambling for alternative meanings. Not while your heart is still racing out of control. You’re having trouble forming words to answer Danny without Carmilla, though.

“I gave it to her.” Carmilla’s voice sounds raspier than you remember it sounding just a few minutes ago. You still don’t look.

“Really?” Danny asks, and you can hear the confusion in her voice.

“After our parents’ funerals.”

“I couldn’t stop crying,” you recall.

“She needed a break. We both needed a break from the entire fucking town lining up to tell us how sorry they were. So I took her out back and we took a moment to breathe.”

You want to laugh at her word choice because it feels like everyone in the room has momentarily stopped breathing while she tells the story, instead you shift your gaze to the silver bracelet dangling from Danny’s fingers.

“I still couldn’t stop crying, though.”

“So I gave her my bracelet.”

“And I stopped.”

You look at her, then, because you have to, but she’s not looking at you. She’s looking at the bracelet with an expression you might have once been able to read, but now you can’t place.

“Oh,” Perry, finally murmurs.

“I remember that,” Will adds a moment later. “You ditched me with Mattie for like half an hour! And then I thought Mother was going to slap you when you told her you lost the bracelet that night.”

Your eyes go wide because she never told you that, and Carmilla squirms uncomfortably, still not meeting your gaze.

“Well, are we going to watch little miss sunshine’s portion of the video, or not?” Carmilla asks after another awkward pause.

You turn back to your computer and you realize that your hand is shaking as you reach out to press play. You know what’s coming, but you’re not sure what it’ll mean. You’re not sure how she’ll take it. You’re not sure where her head’s at these days. It’s been far too long since you knew, and in this moment that’s making your chest ache in a way you’re not sure you can tolerate for long.

“Hi, future selves!” you watch yourself say with an overly enthusiastic wave. God, you were young. “Okay, so, I hope we’re all there and we’re all still friends. I really hope everything got preserved okay because otherwise this will kind of suck. Anyway, my advice for my future self…I mean…Okay, I’ve always had crushes on the wrong people. No, I’ve always had A crush on the wrong PERSON. And, whatever, nobody is going to even see this for ten years, and it’s not like she’ll even be there, I’m sure, so I may as well admit it. It’s not like it will even matter by then, so I guess I’ll go ahead and say it…” You watch yourself pause and take a deep breath. You watch your cheeks flush pink. You can feel a matching blush creeping up your cheeks now. “I’ve always had a crush on Carmilla. So, Danny, go ahead and laugh and roll your eyes, and LaF, I fully expect you to tease me mercilessly, but anyway, my hope is that by the time I watch this I’ve learned to fall for someone who’s good for me. I hope all of us have found someone, or do find someone who we can share everything with. Life is too big and scary to go through alone, I think. So, yeah. I hope we’re all still awesome in ten years.” You watch yourself give another goofy little wave and then get off of your chair and move to turn off the camera, and then your computer screen goes black.

You don’t move. You don’t turn around. You’re not even one hundred percent sure you’re breathing.

For a few seconds there isn’t a single sound in your room despite all of you crammed in there.

And then hands are spinning your chair around and Carmilla is there, looking down at you with an intensity you’ve only seen once, for one fleeting moment, and then her hands are tugging at your elbows pulling you up. There’s a moment when all you can do is stare at her in wonder that she’s here and you’re here and the things you’ve never said to each other suddenly feel like they’ve been shouted into the world, and then her lips are pressing against yours.

You can’t tell if your heart stops beating or is beating so fast that it’s become a solid hum, and you honestly don’t care as Carmilla cups your face with her hands and you tangle your fingers in her hair. You release the photograph that you’d had a death grip on in favor of pulling Carmilla even closer to you. Her lips are soft, but desperately needy and her tongue is sweet as it licks into your mouth.

You feel so much EVERYTHING in that moment that you think you might explode, but then Carmilla’s lips are leaving yours and you lean in, chasing them, without thinking, a needy moan in your throat. Carmilla places a chaste kiss against your lips, then leans her head against your forehead. For a moment you stay there, breathing in deep breaths of everything her, feeling her hot breath hitting your face. And then you open your eyes only to find her right there, eyes dark and bright, biting her lower lip into her mouth, smile tugging at the corners. She’s there and you’re holding her and it’s real.

“Maybe we should go,” Perry says, but you barely hear her because Carmilla is still looking at you and still holding you and still so, so, very close.

“Good idea,” Will declares, and there’s a scramble as people exit your room.

You hear the door click shut, and then it’s just you and Carmilla alone in your room.

You’re not sure which one of you surges forward, then. Maybe it’s both of you. To be honest, you don’t care because Carmilla’s lips are back on yours and her hands are tugging on your shirt, and her body is pressing into yours until you’re forced to step back towards your bed. Carmilla kisses down your throat and you let out a low moan. She pauses, just long enough for her hands to pull your shirt over your head, and then you’re collapsing backwards onto your bed with Carmilla on top of you, her lips finding your pulse point and sucking gently.

“You’ve been under my skin for so long,” Carmilla murmurs against your skin, her voice breathless. “I used to hate you for it. I wanted so desperately to not feel this connection to you, to not ache for you like I did.”

The words make you want to pull her back up and hold her close, but her tongue is licking across your collarbone, and her fingers are trailing up your side, and your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath her touch, so you let her continue.

“And then I let you in, and I should have kept you in, but I got so damn scared.” Carmilla’s teeth graze against the skin of your breast just above your bra, and you inhale sharply. “I was so damn scared of losing everything that I let the most important thing slip away.”

Her voice is washing over you, and you’re not entirely sure that you’re absorbing every word, especially when her hand pushes the cup of your bra up and then her fingers are rolling your nipple between them, but you completely understand the message.

“I know,” you start to say, but then her mouth replaces her fingers on your nipple and her tongue is flicking against it, and all that comes out is a strangled moan.

“And I thought about trying to fix it so many times, but I never knew how,” she gasps when your fingers tangle in her hair, your nails digging into her scalp. Her breath is hot against your nipple and it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

She’s still wearing a shirt you realize. Why is she still wearing a shirt? Your fingers slip through her hair, down over the back of her neck and grip into the thin cotton covering her shoulders. You tug and scramble until she sits up, straddling you, and peels the shirt off, and then her lips envelop your nipple once again. She licks and sucks as your fingers run over the smooth expanse of her back. You relish getting to touch her like this and hold her closer.

“And here you are. All this time, and here you are.” She pulls back despite your groan of protest, and, when your eyes flutter open, she’s staring down at you with an intensity that could rival the sun. “You’ve been under my skin since I was eight years old and I spent so long fighting it.”

You nod to let her know you understand. You don’t trust your voice right now. You’re not sure you can find the words.

“I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You want to just pull her back into a kiss, but you can tell she needs more (and maybe you can still read her like you once could), so you run your fingers through her hair and you smile up at her. “I’ve had a crush on you since I knew what a crush was. I wanted to hate you once, but it never worked. My whole life I’ve been comparing every girl to you and none has ever matched up.”

Carmilla’s smiling in a more open way than you can ever remembering seeing, but there’s a shyness to it, too, and you think your heart might very well burst at the sight.

“Do we even know each other anymore?” she asks with such vulnerability that you’re absolutely positive that nobody has ever gotten to see it in her before.

“Enough,” you say with confidence. You pull her back down for a kiss and she comes willingly to your arms. “What we don’t know, we can learn,” you promise against her lips.

You lose yourself in the sensation of kissing her for a few minutes. The way her tongue slides into your mouth, the way she nips at your bottom lip with her teeth, the way her moan reverberates through your mouth when you bend your leg between hers and she grinds down against it. You slide your hands down over her ass and grin against her lips when she gasps into you. Her fingers slide around your side and you arch your back so that she can unhook your bra. You break the kiss long enough to slide the bra straps over your arms, and then your bra is on the floor and Carmilla’s lips are back on yours and her hands are pawing greedily at your chest.

She kisses and licks her way down your neck, her fingers trailing hotly down the flat of your stomach until they trace along the waistline of your jeans.

“Carm,” you gasp, the old nickname falling easily from your lips. Her mouth closes hotly around your nipple as her fingers deftly undo your jeans, and then you’re lifting your butt and helping her get your jeans off over your legs.

She presses kisses down your stomach, her breath tickling against your skin as she lets out a little chuckle that sounds almost like she can’t believe she’s getting to touch you like this. You know how she feels.

Her fingers curl into the elastic of your underwear and her tongue leaves a hot wet trail across your hipbone and you want so badly for her to be touching you in places she’s not.

“Laura.” Your name ghosts against your skin. She follows it with kisses, and then she sucks just above your underwear in the curve of your hip, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and you know it’ll leave a mark. Carmilla’s mark on you. The thought makes you shiver in excitement.

A thought comes to you, and maybe now’s not the time, but it seems important that you know.

“Mattie –“ you start. You’re cut short with a gasp as Carmilla slides your underwear down, and you kick it away. You know there’s a blush spreading across you at the thought that you’re now naked beneath Carmilla, but her pinch to your side and her muttered, “wrong sister, cutie,” take away any self-consciousness.

“No,” you laugh, “Mattie once told me something about you.”

Carmilla’s fingers trace up your thighs as her mouth kisses up your stomach and you spread your legs eagerly in anticipation.

“I don’t think now,” Carmilla pauses to accentuate her point with a small tug on your nipple with her teeth, and you inhale sharply and arch into her touch, “is the best time to be talking about my sister.”

You agree, but you need to know, so you persevere through the distractions of the slow circles her fingers are tracing on your inner thigh and the feel of her breath on your chest as she sucks on first one nipple and then the other.

“She told me that she’s only known you to care about two things outside of your family.”

Carmilla moves her lips to your throat and hums against your pulse point as she kisses you there, and you tilt you head back to give her better access.

You bite back a whimper as her fingers brush far too gently across your clit. You roll your hips up to try to give you more contact and you feel her grin against your throat.

Her fingers brush your clit again, firmer this time, and then she starts to circle it slowly, and you get lost in sensations and ragged breathing for a moment before you can come back to your train of thought.

“One of them is art.”

“Mmm,” Carmilla hums in agreement as she tugs gently on your earlobe with her teeth.

“But she wouldn’t tell me the other.”

Carmilla pulls back and looks at you, her fingers still circling your clit achingly slowly. The look on her face says so many things, but not enough. You need to hear the words.

“I didn’t dare to think that it might have been –“

Carmilla shakes her head with a small smile, and then she captures your lips in hers. Her fingers find the wetness between your legs and slide along your slick folds. “It’s you, Laura,” she whispers into your mouth as she slips a finger inside you. “It’s always been you.”


End file.
